Seize the Day
by Miyagino 'Mikura' Asakura
Summary: Arthur Kirkland always lived in the shadows of his older brothers. Alfred F. Jones was a puppet to his father's unreasonable whims. With the help of the new Literature teacher, Romulus Vargas, Alfred, Arthur, and many more learn to break out of their shells, pursue their dreams, and seize the day. (A Hetalia Dead Poets Society AU with USUK, PruHun, and a minor OC)
1. New Beginnings

_It's only the beginning now_

_...a pathway yet unknown_

_At times the sound of other steps_

_...sometimes we walk alone._

-Gertrude B. McClain, _New Beginnings_

* * *

Arthur Kirkland wanted to be anywhere else but here. Here being in the church of Welton Academy where the school year's opening ceremony was being conducted.

A few minutes of silence passed through the hall, and Arthur took this as a chance to observe one of the places he would be stuck in for the next two years. The small church, which was only one building among the many more that stood proudly in the school's campus, was pretty old. Arthur could guess that it was probably built in the mid-1800s with what little he knew about architecture. The walls were made of concrete bricks and the ceilings were highly domed, forming arches right above the pews where all parents, students, and teachers sat.

The Brit snapped out of his reverie when everyone's attention turned to the stairs connected to the church's entrance. The procession that his parents mentioned to him was starting. Arthur decided to take note of the people in the line as the bagpipe began playing the school's anthem. The first person to enter was probably a 4th grade student judging by his height, the second a Moldovan who appeared to be within the range of grades 7 to 8. After the Moldovan came the boy playing the bagpipe, which Arthur assumed was a Freshman due to the youth in his features. Opposing the Freshman's youth was the teacher carrying a candle behind him, an old man who looked as if he was ready to pass out should he find a place to sit.

His attention then shifted to the boys carrying the banners which, according to his parents, each represented the four pillars of the school. They all appeared to be his age. The first one, "tradition", was carried by a tall Russian with light brown hair and childlike, purple eyes that seemed to have no hint of warmth in them. The boy kept a smile as he walked down the aisle, but that smile sent warning signals off in the Brit's head.

The second one, "honor", was carried by a short Chinese. He also sent off negative vibes, but not as bad as the Russian's vibes. He was probably as upset as Arthur was about being stuck in this institution.

The third one, "discipline", was carried by a German (or was it Prussian?) albino with piercing red eyes and a proud grin. Not much to note aside from the weird silver hair that the boy had.

But he caught his breath at the fourth boy, who carried a banner with the word "excellence". (In a way, it was if the teachers chose the right banner for him to carry…) A few inches shorter than the Russian, the American boy had striking blonde hair that was neatly combed down aside from a cowlick sticking up. His sky blue eyes shown behind his silver-rimmed glasses, and among all the other boys who had come before, his smile was the most heartwarming one and made everyone else pale in comparison to him.

Arthur kept his eyes on the boy until he stopped at the foot of the altar. The procession then turned to face the crowd as the bagpipe ceased its tune and the Italian headmaster, Mr. Aurelius Diocletian, proudly took center stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys," he said and motioned to the sleepy teacher with the candle. "The Light of Knowledge."

The old brass organ began to play as the teacher walked over to the first pew. The first boy, holding a candle like the rest of his classmates, smiled at the old man as the candle was lit. He in turn lit the candle of the boy next to him. An applause sounded throughout the church, and the members of the procession went back to their seats as the light was being passed on.

The headmaster took his place at the podium when the organ finished its melody. "One hundred years ago, in 1859, 41 boys sat in this room and were asked the same question that greets you at the start of each semester. Gentlemen, what are the Four Pillars?"

All of the boys who were in uniform stood up. Arthur's dad nudged him to do the same, even though Arthur wasn't even in uniform yet. ("Stand up, Arthur. You're a student of Welton now." "Hell no." "Arthur!" "Fine!")

"Tradition, honor, discipline, and excellence," they (minus Arthur) replied in unison and sat down after.

The headmaster smiled. "In her first year, Welton Academy graduated five students. Last year we graduated fifty-one. And more than seventy-five percent of those went on to the Ivy League." The words were greeted with a strong applause from the audience. "This, this kind of accomplishment is the result of fervent dedication to the principles taught here. This is why you parents have been sending us your sons. This is why we are the best preparatory school in the United States!" Another applause. Arthur's parents were clapping too and smiling at their son, but Arthur could still find no reason to clap along with them.

The headmaster smiled once more at the crowd. "As you know," he continued when the applause ceased, "our beloved Mr. Adnan of the Literature department retired last term. You will have the opportunity later to meet his replacement, Mr. Romulus Vargas, himself a graduate of this school, and who, for the past several years, has been teaching at the highly regarded Chester School in London. Please stand up to be recognized, Mr. Vargas."

An Italian man to the right of the stage stood up, scratching the back of his head and smiling at the audience. He appeared to be in his early forties, with deeply tanned skin. Both his eyes and hair were dark brown. His hair was quite neat aside from two weird curls sticking out, one on the upper right side of his head and the other on the lower left side. The teacher also had some stubble on his chin. He sat down after the applause ended and the ceremony continued for around an hour.

* * *

The outside of the church was chaos after the ceremony, but that was to be expected in Arthur's opinion. The parents had fallen in line with their sons to meet the headmaster, who stood at the church's entrance greeting all the parents. After getting caught up in the terrible sea of humanity, the Kirklands were now in front of the headmaster.

"Thrilling ceremony as usual, Aurelius!" Mr. Kirkland exclaimed, shaking the headmaster's hand enthusiastically.

"You've been away too long, James," Mr. Diocletian replied. "We've been looking forward to seeing your family in these halls again."

"Hello, Aurelius," Mrs. Kirkland smiled and shook his hand as well.

"Victoria!" he smiled in reply. "It's really good to have the both of you back."

"Oh! Have you two met, by the way?" Mrs. Kirkland took Arthur by the arm and made him stand before the headmaster. "Aurelius, this is our youngest son, Arthur."

"Ah, Arthur," Mr. Diocletian smiled. "Your brothers have told me a lot about you, young man. You'll have some very big shoes to fill, considering Alistair was valedictorian of his batch and your other brothers also being honor students."

"Thank you, Mr. Diocletian. I won't disappoint you," Arthur lied. He'd already acknowledged how much of a failure he actually was, and although the headmaster wore a smile as he spoke, Arthur was pretty sure his brothers brought up his "punk phase" to the headmaster.

The Kirklands left the headmaster to go to the parking lot and take out the things that Arthur would need—his clothes, his school supplies, and a bunch of books to keep him entertained. Mr. Kirkland smiled at Arthur. "Look at you now, Artie. On your way to a new chapter of your life! It seems as if it was only yesterday that your mother was still nursing you in her arms…"

Mrs. Kirkland suddenly sniffed. "You be a good boy now, Arthur. Enough of that punk phase."

"Yes, yes." Arthur shook that statement off and hugged his parents. "I'm going to miss you." _A lie._

"Oh Arthur, we're going to miss you too!" _Another lie._ "See you again during the Christmas break!"

"Mm-hm. See you," Arthur said. His parents climbed into the car (a black mini cooper) and drove away, leaving him alone as the afternoon bell rang out.

* * *

Ever since he could remember, he had lived in the shadows of his three older brothers. Every single day of his life was spent in their shadows, wishing that for once his parents would recognize how hard he was trying to reach their expectations. But even with all of that, they only saw him as the extra, the child who wasn't supposed to happen. The only time they actually noticed him was when he'd gone through his "punk phase" as they called it during junior high. Then again, they only noticed him for his flaws. That's all they ever saw in him when they transferred him to Welton Academy. It was always "It's not enough" or "Try harder". So he tried harder to get them to notice him. Since all they ever saw we his flaws, might as well give actual flaws for them to see. They never noticed him anyway, might as well give them something to notice.

Arthur's thoughts wandered off to his brothers, the only ones who caught his parents' eyes. Alistair, the oldest, excelled in everything he did. He was the popular one, loved by everybody, and always recognized for everything good that he did with his life. No one ever knew that behind those charming smiles and polite words lay a darkness that could only be seen once the adults' backs were turned. Alistair looked down on Arthur, calling him "weak", "useless", and saying things like "you don't deserve to live".

Colin, the second, was almost the same as Alistair. Calling him names. Cursing his existence. Colin didn't bother hiding his personality the same way Alistair did with his smiles, but even with that he was always recognized as one of the smartest students of Welton.

Dylan, the third, was the only one who ever cared for Arthur. Dylan would always encourage him on those days when he could no longer take the insults, on those days when the world seemed too much to bear. Dylan always smiled and told him everything would be okay. But even when Dylan remained the only light in his life, Arthur stayed in his shadow.

At least he wasn't in his brothers' shadows so much in his old school. He was accepted for who he was, even if he wasn't the most perfect person in the world. Even if he had that "punk phase", at least people were able to look past the cigarette smoke and glaring eyes to see the potential he had. So really, what difference would it make if he'd gotten honors here? It will never be enough for his parents anyway. It won't be enough to get out of the shadows anyway.

Arthur sat down in the courtyard where the new students were supposed to wait for their roommates. He stared up to the trees' leaves, watching as the orange leaves struggled to keep their place in its branches, only to be blown away by the wind.

_Maybe I'm just like that,_ he thought. _Struggling to be noticed, only to be ignored…_

"Um, Arthur…?" said a voice. "Arthur Kirkland?"

Arthur shifted his gaze to the voice's source. "Yes?"

The boy sighed in relief. "Looks like I found the right person." He stretched out his hand and smiled. Arthur recognized him as the boy who carried the "excellence" banner. Now that he thought about it, he looked a lot more excellent up close… Crap. Did he just think that? He allowed himself a mental slap.

"Are you my roommate?" Arthur asked out of curiosity, his voice shaking slightly.

The American nodded, eyes sparkling. "Alfred Foster Jones, at your service! I will be your heroic roommate this school year. Let's do our best together this year, Artie!"

Arthur scowled. "Don't call me that wretched nickname."

"Okay, Artie." Alfred ignored Arthur's words as the Brit picked up his things from the ground. "Do you need any help with that?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you."

"Suit yourself." Alfred looked at the papers in his hands. "So, you came from Balincrest? Why'd you transfer here then?"

"My brothers studied here," he replied.

"Oh, so you're _that_ Kirkland, huh?"

Arthur nodded. _That's always how people will see me._

* * *

_A/N: Good day and welcome to the first chapter of "Seize the Day", which is inspired by the awesome movie "Dead Poets Society". I know that not much really goes on in this chapter since it's primarily setting the stage/scene painting for this tale, but I'm really looking forward to this project. Since it's summer where I'm at, hopefully I'll be able to update often._

_Thank you for reading this chapter! Please leave a review in the box on your way out so that I can improve on this the next update. Have a nice day! :)_


	2. We Wear the Mask

_Why should the world be overwise_

_In counting all our tears and sighs?_

_Nay, let them only see us, while_

_We wear the mask._

-Paul Laurence Dunbar, _We Wear the Mask_

* * *

Alfred tried to get to know his new roommate, but that was as easy as trying to destroy the Great Wall of China with only a hammer. Arthur seemed to have all these walls built around him, only answering Alfred's questions with nods or shrugs. The Brit was so quiet that Alfred almost lost him in the chaos of the dorm hallways. Alfred had spent a few minutes in utter worry as to what could happen to Arthur when he disappeared, but found the Brit eventually thanks to his eyebrows that were as big as Texas.

He took care not to think about the fact that Arthur's eyes contributed to his finding him. (His eyes were green like emeralds so green they were like staring into the rarest form of emeralds so emerald were his eyes he couldn't imagine anything more emerald it's as if God took two emeralds and shoved it into his fucking eye socke-) Crap. Did he think about it again? He allowed himself an actual slap.

The American entered the room where he would be staying in this school year. It was small, with white walls and a wooden floor. The window at the room's center gave the view of the campus. There were two beds (separated by the side table under the window), two closets (which stood at the feet of the beds), two study desks (not like Alfred ever used his, anyway), and an overhead light marking the room's center. He was setting his things on the right side of the room when Ivan Braginski, the Russian bane of his existence, stood outside the door with a cold smile on his face.

"So, Alfred," said Ivan. "Will you be at the study group tonight?"

"I'm not as stupid as you look, Ivan," Alfred grinned in reply. "I'm going so that I can help improve on what little smarts you have."

"Is that so? Great!" Ivan's smile dropped a few more degrees. "I'm looking forward to seeing you prove how much of a retarded asshole you actually are."

The two smiled at each other as if trying to see whose smile was the coldest. (Ivan won by a long shot. Alfred was just too nice.)

"I heard you got the new student as your roommate," Ivan said. "Arthur Kirkland, am I right?"

Alfred nodded as he began unpacking.

"Lucky. I'd really like it if he became _my_ friend." Ivan chuckled. "My blood boils just thinking about him and those weird eyebrows. It will be so much fun once I pound his face to dust. I want to see him confused and troubled, begging for his life when I snap him in ha—"

"The only one who will be begging for his life here will be you," Arthur said, leaning against the door post. "Get out of my sight."

"Oh well," Ivan said as he backed away, shaking his head. "I won't disturb the 'special relationship' happening here. See you later, Alfred!" The Russian disappeared into the hallways.

_Special relationship?_ _What the heck does that mean?_ Alfred wondered. Ivan was weird.

"Don't mind Ivan," Alfred said as Arthur placed his things on the bed to the left. "He's a bit insane in the membrane..."

"Alfred, if you consider anyone not worth your time, then he's not worth mine as well," Arthur said without looking at the American. "I can only trust your judgment as a new student in this blasted institution."

Alfred pulled some sheets of paper out of his pocket and whacked Arthur's back playfully. "Aww! That's so sweet, Artie~!"

"Get stuffed! It's not like I had a goddamned choice anyway!" The Brit turned to the American, his face a stunning fifty shades of red. "And I already told you, stop calling me that wretched name!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Artie."

"Ugh." Arthur resumed his unpacking.

Someone knocked the door post, and the American looked to its source. Three boys stood outside, smiling at Alfred.

"Guys, hey!Come in, come in!" Alfred greeted, walking to the door. He gave all of them high fives as they entered the small room.

The first one, a French boy named Francis Bonnefoy, sat on Alfred's bed and pointed at him in mock accusation. "Rumors have been going around, _mon ami_. You did summer school?"

The American nodded and sat on the table under the window. "Chemistry. Dad said I should get ahead. How was your summer, Bonnefoy?"

"Keen," Francis replied sarcastically and flipped his golden locks off his shoulder.

The second one, a Prussian boy named Gilbert Beilschmidt, was stationed near Alfred's desk. He shook his head. "Francis here just refuses to acknowledge the fact that he attempted to flirt with a nun-in-training."

"Jesus," Alfred laughed. "Really?"

"_Excusé moí_!" Francis exclaimed. "It's not like I knew! Besides, her beauty surpasses even that of _Mérè Maríe_! It's only being wasted in that old, dark cluster!" Francis bit on his handkerchief to emphasize his point.

The third one, a Japanese by the name of Kiku Honda, closed the door and took his place near Arthur's closet. "It's okay, Francis-san," Kiku tried motivating the French boy. "I may not have a lot of experience with those kind of things, but don't give up. Maybe one day you'll find someone who's really meant for you."

"Maybe." Francis sighed. "We'll all have to face heartbreak at some point, _Monsieur _Kiku. I've already thought about that every time I go after someone, so it makes it easier for me to endure things when they don't work out."

"That's a good way of putting it," Gilbert agreed. "Though if my heart was broken by someone, I'd probably set the whole school on fire."

"Yes. That's probably something Gilbert-san would do," Kiku said.

"Now, now, lover boys," said Alfred. "We should focus on our work with those who have non-existent love lives." The American stood up and said in a terrible imitation of Mr. Diocletian, "Gentlemen, what are the Four Pillars?"

Francis, Gilbert, and Kiku stood up straight. "Travesty. Horror. Decadence. Excrement," they said in unison, Kiku wearing a serious face while the other two made no effort whatsoever to hide their grins.

Gilbert lit a cigarette as Francis sat down on Alfred's bed. "Study group," said Francis. "_Monsieur _Kiku here aced Latin. I did not quite fail at English. So if you approve, _Monsieur_ Alfred, we now have our study group."

"I approve," said Alfred, nodding. He resumed his post at the window. "Ivan asked me also, by the way. Are all of you okay with including him?"

"Hmm..." Gilbert stroked an invisible beard as if in deep thought. "What's his specialty? Sadism?"

"Be nice, Gilbert-san," said Kiku. "Braginski-san is your roommate."

"Well it's not like I wanted him as my roommate to begin with," Gilbert said, arms crossed.

The Asian then noticed Arthur, who was placing a desk set on top of the study table near the closet. "Oh, I'm sorry. How rude of me. Nice to meet you. My name is Kiku Honda."

Alfred rose. He'd completely forgotten that Arthur was in the room due to how quiet the Brit was when unpacking his things. "Guys, this is my roommate, Arthur Kirkland."

Kiku bowed at Arthur. "Let us do our best together, Kirkland-san."

Arthur mimicked his action. "Yes. I wish for the same. But there's no need for formalities. Arthur is just fine."

"If you say so, Arthur-san."

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," Gilbert butted in, looking smug. "But otherwise, you can call me 'The Awesome One'."

"Sure thing, the asshole one," said Arthur.

Gilbert clapped and hooted. "This one's a keeper, Al."

"Now now, _Monsieur _Arthur. Don't mind Gilbert here," Francis said, rising from his bed. "He was born with his foot in his mouth, if you know what I mean." The Frenchman produced a rose out of his pocket and planted a kiss on Arthur's hand. "Francis Bonnefoy is my name. Oh, don't frown! You never know who could be falling in love with your smile."

Arthur smiled as Francis handed him the flower. "I tried my best to not feel anything for you. Guess what? I failed."

"Ah, really? Well if that's the case, I'm available this—"

"I feel as if Gilbert probably isn't the only one here born with his foot in his mouth," Arthur beamed sarcastically while wiping his hand. Then he unceremoniously crumpled up the rose and tossed it in the garbage can under his table.

Francis stared at Arthur, shocked. Gilbert was laughing his head off. "Definitely a keeper, Al! Definitely a keeper!" said the Prussian.

"Arthur here is the youngest brother of Alistair Kirkland," Alfred said.

"That's amazing!" said Kiku. "Alistair-san, Colin-san and Dylan-san were all valedictorians and national merit scholars. To be in the same room as their brother is—"

"Not really much of an honor, actually," Arthur interrupted. "I'm the worst compared to them." There was a sad look in his eyes when he said that. Alfred thought there was probably more that Arthur wanted to say, but the fact that everyone in the room was still a stranger to him was what held him back.

"Oh well. Welcome to Hellton," said Gilbert. "It's as every bit as tough as they say, unless you're an Asian genius like Honda."

"You're flattering me, Gilbert-san," Kiku said, looking pleased but uncomfortable.

"See? This is exactly the reason why poor Kiku here has to help you ace Latin," said Francis. "And English. And geom."

Gilbert began to laugh, but was cut off by a sharp knock at the door. The Prussian stamped out his cigarette on the floor as quickly as he could. Alfred opened the window to wave the smoke from the air. "It's open," Alfred said as soon as the smell was gone and the window closed.

Enter, Allen F. Jones. He was a tall man in his early 50s, and resembled Alfred in many ways. He carried an air of superiority around him as he stepped in the room. His piercing blue (almost purple) eyes regarded everyone in the room with a calculating expression.

"D-dad," Alfred stammered, rising from the window area. "I thought you'd gone."

The rest of the boys in the room stood straight.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jones," greeted Kiku, Gilbert, and Francis.

"Keep your seats, boys," Allen said with a smile. Alfred's friends sat down, but still retained the air of tension around them. Allen then turned to his son. "Alfred, I've spoken to Mr. Diocletian. I think that you're taking too many extra-curricular activities this semester, and I've decided that you should drop the school annual."

Alfred took a second to process his father's words, then looked disappointed. "But I'm assistant editor this year," he said.

"I'm sorry, Alfred," said Allen. "But–"

"I can't, dad," Alfred interrupted. "It wouldn't be fair…"

Alfred looked down to the floor. Allen looked around the room. "Boys, would you excuse us for a moment?" asked the father.

Kiku, Gilbert, and Francis nodded. Allen walked to the door and Alfred followed, as if on a prison sentence. Allen took a moment to smile at the other boys, but that smile disappeared in the hallways as he grabbed Alfred's arm.

"Don't you ever dispute me in public, Alfred," he said sternly. "Understand?"

"Dad, I wasn't disputing–"

"After you've finished medical school and you're on your own, then you can do as you damn well please," Allen continued. "But until then, you follow my instructions. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir." Alfred nodded, faking a smile. "I'm sorry."

"You know how much this means to your mother, don't you?"

"Yes sir. You know me, always taking on too much."

"Well, that's my boy. Now listen, you need anything, you let us know, okay?"

"Okay."

Allen smiled and slapped Alfred's shoulder. He took his leave afterward.

Alfred leaned against the wall. Ever since he could remember, he had lived as a puppet to all of his father's whims. Every single day of his life was spent in his dad's puppet show, wishing for once that he could speak his mind and do the things that he actually wanted to do with his life. But even with all of that, his dad would never listen when he tried to speak up, turning a deaf ear at the boy. The only time Allen actually listened to him was when Alfred followed his orders or lied about how he really felt. Then again, Allen was only happy when Alfred hid the truth from him. That's all he was ever happy about. It's always been like that. So he stopped trying to reach his dreams. He locked them all away and forgot them. He put up a mask to hide his real feelings. It made his father happier, anyway.

Sometimes Alfred had to remind himself that his life wasn't always like that. Back when his mom and twin brother Matthew were with them, the house seemed a lot brighter. His mom wanted to be a doctor and studied daily for it. He played a lot with Matthew, and his dad was one of the best people to ever have existed at that time. But after his mom died of exhaustion when he was 10 years old, the house grew darker. Matthew was able to escape by getting a scholarship to a school in Canada, but Alfred was left behind to carry his mother's dreams that were thrust on him by his father.

It was unfair. But if it meant that the brightness could return to his house, Alfred was willing to do it, really…

Really?

"Why doesn't he let you do what you want, _mon ami_?" Francis asked, his head along with Gilbert's popping outside the door.

"Yeah, Al! Tell him off," said Gilbert. "It couldn't get any worse."

"Oh, that's rich," said Alfred. "Like you guys tell your parents off, Mr. Future Lawyer and Mr. Future Banker."

Gilbert sighed. "Okay, I may not like it as much as you do."

Alfred turned and entered the room. "Well, just don't tell me how to talk to my dad. You guys are the same way."

"_Oui, oui, Seigneur_." Francis shook his head and went back to Alfred's bed. "So what are you going to do?"

"What I have to do," Alfred said while looking out the window. "Drop the annual."

"Well, I wouldn't lose much sleep over it," Gilbert said. "It's just a bunch of jerks trying to impress Diocletian."

"I don't care," Alfred's fists were gripped at this point. "I don't give a damn about any of it."

An awkward silence settled in the room. Kiku coughed. "So, um… Latin at eight, in my room?"

"Sure," Alfred said, a smile returning on his face.

"Arthur-san, you're welcome to join us," said Kiku to the Brit.

"Yeah, come along, Artie!" Alfred beamed.

Arthur looked up from his desk where he was setting up his alarm clock. He looked at everyone in the room, then gave a quick nod. "Thanks."

* * *

_A/N: And thus I present the second chapter of this AU. It was a bit hard to write (yet nothing much was happening anyway), so I'm glad that it's over and done with._

_Also, special shout-outs to Miztsi, X, Marzue, and Estella Tweak. Your reviews really meant the world to me. Thank you so much for saying that you liked the first chapter! Another special shout-out to those who favorite-d and followed this fic! It really motivates me to keep on writing~! :)_

_Once again, please leave a review in the box below on your way out. More reviews=Happy Author=Faster Updates. Thank you and enjoy the rest of your day!_


	3. To His Coy Mistress

_And your quaint honour turn to dust,_

_And into ashes all my lust:_

_The grave's a fine and private place,_

_But none, I think, do there embrace._

-Andrew Marvell, _To His Coy Mistress_

* * *

Hell began with five a.m. bell sounding out in the campus, causing birds to fly away at the alarming sound. The annoying "caw caw's" and "quack quack's" were enough to piss off anyone who hadn't gotten enough sleep the day before, and the alarm clock ringing a few seconds later caused Arthur (who definitely hadn't gotten enough sleep the day before) to cringe, pull the sheets over his head and cover his ears. _Please, just let me slee—_

"Wake up, Arthur! Wake up!" Insert American roommate slamming pillow on Englishman's head. "It's a brand new day! This isn't the time to be dozing off! Wake up! WAKE UP!"

"Bloody hell, Alfred!" The Brit exclaimed, pulling the sheets off his head and sitting up. "I'm awake! I'm awa—"

The Brit was interrupted by the pillow slamming his sleep-deprived features. "Welcome to Hellton, Mr. Kirkland," Alfred grinned.

Arthur swore he was going to kill that bespectacled blond on a day when he wasn't so tired.

* * *

It might be a better idea to have the dorm building renovated. Or rather, Gilbert should probably get his heart broken and burn down the whole school so that better buildings could be built. Since there was only one staircase leading to the dorm's entrance/exit, the sea of humanity that Arthur went through during the opening ceremony was nothing compared to the waves of students (and occasional teachers) flowing down the dorm staircase.

"Slow down boys!" exclaimed Helmut Beilschmidt, the Latin teacher and a relative of Gilbert. He swam against the steady stream of students. "Slow down, you horrible phalanx of pubescence!"

Arthur could only stare at the crowd from the top of the stairs. Alfred stood next to him, smiling. The American patted the Englishman's shoulder. "Welcome to—"

"Hellton. I get it." Arthur put his books on top of his head. "Let's just get this day over with." He threw himself into the sea of humanity. Alfred followed suit.

After getting to the end of the stairs, Arthur stood in line with all the other students who were heading to Mr. Diocletian's office. Mrs. Karpusi, scary dorm lady that she was, called names with a semi-pissed voice. "Beilschmidt. Jones. Bonnefoy. Kirkland. Braginski."

"Who's the new student?" The Chinese student from the opening ceremony asked.

"Arthur-san," Kiku replied quietly.

"Wang, Honda," Mrs. Karpusi called out. "Demerits."

The Chinese student sighed.

"That's another demerit, Wang," said the dorm lady.

The Chinese student whispered a curse in his mother's tongue.

The students called entered the head master's office, an air of tension building up. Arthur had to admit that he felt it the most, since he stood in between people he decided he would hate this school year.

Mr. Diocletian looked up from the papers on his table. He smiled at Gilbert. "Welcome back, Mr. Beilschmidt. Has your family moved into that new house yet?"

"Yes sir," Gilbert replied. "About a month ago."

"I hear it's beautiful." The head master then turned to Ivan. "Ah, there you are Mr. Braginski. How's your family?"

"Doing fine, sir," Ivan replied. "Katyusha recently became assistant director for this year's Shakespeare festival."

"Right, right." Mr. Diocletian took a dog biscuit from his desk and fed it to Caligula, the dorm's guard dog. "That's good to hear. Katyusha will make a good director some day."

The head master then turned to Arthur. "Mr. Kirkland, since you're new here, let me explain that at Welton I assign all extra-curricular activities based on merit and desire. These activities are to be taken every bit as seriously as class work. Right, boys?"

"Yes sir," they (minus Arthur) said in unison.

"Failure to attend required meetings will result in demerits," Mr. Diocletian said. He put on some reading glasses and looked down at his papers. "Mr. Bonnefoy: School newspaper, service club, soccer, rowing. Mr. Beilschmidt: Welton Society Candidates, school paper, soccer, sons of alumni club."

"Yes sir," said Gilbert.

"Mr. Jones: Welton Society Candidates, chemistry club, mathematics club, soccer, no school annual."

"No sir," Alfred agreed, looking a little disappointed.

"Mr. Braginski: Welton Society Candidates, debate club, rowing, service club, forensics, Honor council."

"Thank you, sir," Ivan said.

Mr. Diocletian then turned to Arthur. "Mr. Kirkland, based on your record at Balincrest: soccer, service club, school annual. Anything else I don't know about?"

"Rowing," Arthur said.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Diocletian raised a brow.

"I'd prefer rowing, sir."

"Rowing?" Mr. Diocletian laughed. "Says here you played soccer at Balincrest."

"Yes, I did that. But I was only—"

"You'll like soccer here, Mr. Kirkland," Mr. Diocletian insisted. "All right boys. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." They (once again, minus Arthur) said in unison. The students left the room, Arthur making no attempt whatsoever to hide his anger. Alfred tried to approach the Brit to cheer him up, but held himself back.

* * *

Arthur's day started with dorm breakfast. Not really much to detail about this period, aside from the fact that the dorm food was pretty bad. Since Arthur still had very little friends in this place, he stayed with Alfred throughout the whole thing. Alfred wouldn't stop talking about a lot of things, like how awesome The Godfather Part 2 will be or how epic the new Queen album was. Francis and Gilbert were also as noisy as Alfred, ranting about those things with him. It seemed as if the only sane people at the table were Kiku and Arthur.

After finishing breakfast, they all went to their classes. Unfortunately, it was a Wednesday, and the first period just _had _to be Chemistry.

**Chemistry: 7:40-8:30 am**

_Teacher: Mrs. Dalila Hassan_

The teacher was a pretty Egyptian lady who was in her mid-30s. If someone made her wear the costume of an Egyptian princess, her beauty would probably surpass even that of Cleopatra. She handed books to the students as she scaled all the aisles of the chemistry lab. She resumed her spot in the front of the room afterwards and smiled.

"Pick three laboratory experiments from the project list and report on them every five weeks. The first twenty questions at the end of chapter one are due tomorrow," she said with a sweet, yet deadly, smile.

There was a collective groan from the students.

**Geometry: 8:35-9:25 am**

_Teacher: Mrs. Alcmene Karpusi_

The teacher was also pretty, a Greek lady who was probably the same age as Mrs. Hassan. Her olive green eyes shone, her dark brown hair was piled into a neat bun on the top of her head, and her skin was a beautiful sun-kissed tan. Now, she probably would've been prettier if she didn't glare at the boys in front of her. And if her background was a flower field or something nicer instead of a blackboard full of postulates and theorems.

"Your study of geometry requires absolute precision," she said, walking up and down the classroom aisles with her arms crossed. "Anyone failing to turn in any homework assignment will be penalized one point off their final grade. Let me urge you now not to test me on this point."

Arthur could understand why she was the dorm monitor this year. The lady was practically Lorelei or something.

**Recess: 9:25-9:45 am**

Not really much to detail about this period, aside from the fact that the cafeteria food was pretty bad. Again.

**Latin: 9:45-10:35 am**

_Teacher: Mr. Helmut Beilschmidt_

Mr. Beilschmidt paced back and forth in front of the blackboard, making the students repeat after every word he said.

"Agricolam."

"Agricolam."

"Agricola."

"Agricola."

"Agricolae."

"Agricolae."

"Agricolarum."

"Agricolarum."

"Agricolis."

"Agricolis."

"Agricolas."

"Agricolas."

"Agrilcolis."

"Agrilcolis."

"Again please. Agricola."

Arthur didn't hate Latin, but he was ready to jump out of the window at this point.

**Literature: 10: 40-11: 30 am**

_Teacher: Mr. Romulus Vargas_

Lit was Arthur's favorite subject. After all, it was, in a way, his life. Books were the ones who kept him company before the cigarette sticks did. They cheered him up on those days when his parents were too overbearing or he just wanted to escape reality. Those tales of knights in shining armor, those poems of unrequited love, and even those dictionaries full of words his younger mind couldn't comprehend brought joy to his life and reminded him that one day, he could be like the heroes of those books and surpass everyone's expectations. One day, he would be able to escape from his brother's shadows and make a name for himself.

Boys, being the gross testosterone lumps that they were, filled up the room with noise. Unfortunately, Arthur had acknowledged by this point in time that not everyone was as in love with Lit as he was. He ignored the others and took the empty seat up front at the left corner, where he believed he would get the best view of the teacher and the blackboard.

Everyone in the class was going about their own business. The poor Latvian boy who was seated next to Arthur became the subject of Ivan's bullying, getting hit in the head by a paper ball. Kiku was reviewing his notes, trying to finish what homework he could. Alfred chatted with the Chinese student from the first day of school while Francis and Gilbert were laughing about some obscure thing at the back of the classroom.

All became silent upon the emergence of Mr. Vargas from the small room next to the blackboard. Compared to the other teachers whom Arthur had encountered earlier, his appearance seemed more relaxed and casual. His tie was slightly looser, his smile warmer.

Arthur's ears perked up, recognizing a familiar tune. Mr. Vargas was whistling The Year 1812, otherwise known as the 1812 Overture by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky.

Mr. Vargas walked up and down the length of the classroom while whistling. He exited afterwards, leaving everyone in the room confused. After a few moments of utter confusion, Mr. Vargas' head poked through the doorway. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. "Come on."

The teacher gestured the students to follow him. Arthur, without any hesitation, took his books and followed the teacher's instructions. Eventually the other students followed his example. Mr. Vargas eventually led the class to the entrance way of the school, where all the trophies and team pictures of the school were kept. Arthur immediately recognized the banners that the students carried during the opening ceremony, which looked down at the students as if trying to intimidate them.

"'Oh Captain, My Captain,'" Mr. Vargas spoke with a slight accent, standing in front of the trophy cabinets. "Does anyone here know where that comes from?"

Arthur looked up, his features showing recognition. He raised his hand.

"Yes, um..."

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland, sir."

"Oh, King Arthur! Okay. Go on."

The rest of the class laughed. Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's from a poem by Walt Whitman about President Abraham Lincoln," said the Brit.

"Thank you, Arthur." Mr. Vargas smiled. "Now, in this class, you can call me Mr. Vargas. Or, if you're slightly more daring, 'Oh Captain, My Captain'."

The class laughed (well, Arthur chuckled at least), and Mr. Vargas gave a few chuckles as well. "Now, let me dispel a few rumors before they fester into facts," the teacher said after the laughing ceased. "One: I too attended 'Hellton' and survived. Two: At that time, I wasn't the 'mental giant' you see before you today. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight pound weakling. I would go to the beach and people would kick copies of Byron in my face!"

Everyone laughed, including Arthur. Kiku, on the other hand, tried to write everything down, but looked confused. Mr. Vargas looked down at the class list in his hand.

"Now, Mr. Wang." He gave an amused look. "That's a rather interesting name." The teacher looked around the class. "Mr. Wang? Where are you?"

Yao Wang, the one who was being called, raised his hand.

"Mr. Wang," said Mr. Vargas. "Would you open your hymnal to page 542 and read the first stanza of the poem you find there?"

Everyone opened their books to the said page. Yao looked up. "'To the virgins, to make much of time'?"

The class gave a few snickers. "Yes, that's the one." Mr. Vargas grinned. "Somewhat appropriate, is it not?"

Yao made a quick "ahem" and read the text.

_Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,_

_Old time is still a-flying,_

_And this same flower that smiles today,_

_Tomorrow will be dying._

"Thank you, Mr. Wang." Mr. Vargas face was still cheerful, but now had an air of seriousness. "'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.' The Latin term for that sentiment is 'Carpe Diem'. Now, who here knows what that means?"

Kiku's hand immediately shot up. Mr. Vargas pointed at the Asian. "Carpe Diem," Kiku said. "It means 'Seize the Day'."

"Very good, Mr.—"

"Honda, sir."

"Honda, like the car brand. Another interesting name!" The class laughed again. Kiku smiled. "'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.' Why do you think Mr. Herrick chose these lines?"

"Because he's in a hurry," Gilbert said without raising his hand.

"Nope. Wrong!" Mr. Vargas slammed his hand down on an imaginary buzzer. "Thank you for playing anyway." The class laughed. Gilbert raised his arms in mock confusion.

"He uses these lines because we are food for worms, boys. Believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going stop breathing, turn cold, and die," Mr. Vargas said, his cheerful expression almost serious now.

The class was silent now, listening intently to anything Mr. Vargas had to say. The teacher motioned to the trophy cases solemnly. "Now, I would like you to step forward over here and peruse some of the faces from the past. You've walked past them many times, but I don't think you've really looked at them."

Arthur and the rest of the class slowly gathered around the cases as Mr. Vargas stepped back. "They're not that different from you, huh?" Mr. Vargas said. He had a small smile. "Same haircuts. Full of hormones as well. They feel as invincible as you do. The world is their oyster. They believed they were destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable?"

Mr. Vargas paced back and forth behind the students. "You see, gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in."

The boys leaned in. Mr. Vargas hovered over Arthur's shoulder.

_Carpe…_

Arthur looked up to Mr. Vargas, eyes narrowed. The teacher raised his hands, as if stating that it wasn't him. The Brit returned his gaze to the pictures in the cabinet.

_Carpe…_

_Carpe Diem…_

_Seize the day, boys._

_Make your lives extraordinary._

* * *

Arthur couldn't focus on any more of the subjects the rest of the day. Those two Latin words haunted him as he stepped out of the building on his way to his next class.

"That was weird," Yao said, walking next to Kiku, Alfred, and Ivan.

"But different," Kiku said positively.

"Spooky, if you ask me," said Alfred.

"Do you think they're going to test us on that?" Ivan asked innocently.

"Is that seriously all you care about, Ivan?" Alfred huffed.

"Huh?" Ivan raised an eyebrow as the rest walked ahead. "What?"

* * *

The locker rooms in the dorms that evening were chaos, but at least they weren't as bad as the traumatizing staircase Arthur had to deal with that morning. The Brit would probably never face something more traumatizing than having his personal space invaded just by going down the stairs.

"Hurry up, boys. Hustle up in there," Mrs. Karpusi's voice sounded outside. "I'm referring to you, Francis." (Francis responded by saying that maintaining his hair is a long process that requires much effort, but Mrs. Karpusi didn't take any of it.)

Kiku emerged from the showers, wiping his jet black hair with a white towel. "_Minna-san_, who is up for a geometry study group tonight?"

A bunch of "me's" sounded out in the room.

"Can't, guys." Gilbert scowled. "Unfortunately I have dinner at the Eidelsteins' house."

"The Eidelsteins?" Arthur asked.

"Big alumns," Alfred replied, then turned to Gilbert. "How did that happen?"

"Friends of my dad's." Gilbert snickered. "They're probably in their nineties or something!"

"Ah, well!" Francis slapped Gilbert's shoulder. "_Bonne chance, mon ami._ Let's hope you don't come back emotionally scarred or something like that. At least you don't have to face dinner here. Anything is better than Hellton hash."

"I'll second that," said Alfred.

"Yeah, we'll see." Gilbert still didn't look pleased.

Alfred then approached Arthur, whose mind was still stuck with that day's Lit lesson. The American snapped his fingers, making the Brit's attention shift from the window to the bespectacled blond. "You joining the study group tonight, Artie?" Alfred asked.

"No, thank you," Arthur lied. Well, it was both a truth and a lie. "I, err, I've got some history I'd like to do."

"Okay," said Alfred, looking a bit disappointed. "Suit yourself."

* * *

_Carpe diem. Seize the day._ Those words were sprawled across the first page of Arthur's Lit notebook. They taunted him. As much as he would like to seize the day and whatnot, he had other things to finish before he could, like that 20-question homework for Chem.

He tore the paper out of his notebook and tossed it in the garbage can. He opened his chemistry book afterwards, forgetting about it eventually.

* * *

_A/N: Here's chapter 3 for all those readers who were waiting on the edge of their seats for this update. It's quite long compared to the first two (10 pages!), but that's okay considering that this chapter is a bit of a turning point in the story._

_Special shout-outs this chapter to X and America. Your reviews made my day. Thank you also to the awesome Ariadne-sama (Noire Knightmare) for favorite-ing this story. Here's the update you requested. Also to everyone else who read this story (to those who reviewed, favorite-d and followed, and also to those who read but didn't do any of that), thank you so much for your support. I'm eternally grateful~! :D_

_Please leave some reviews on your way out. Thank you and have a very nice day!_


	4. Hero and Leander

_The reason no man knows, let it suffice,_

_What we behold is censur'd by our eyes._

_Where both deliberate, the love is slight:_

_Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?_

-Christopher Marlowe, _Hero and Leander_

* * *

Gilbert stared at the same trophy cabinets that Mr. Vargas showed them earlier that day. Although he tried not to show it, he too had been quite affected by that day's Literature lesson. Sure, it was weird at first, especially with the fact that Mr. Vargas didn't look _extremely_ serious while talking. In the 10 years that Gilbert had stayed in Hellton, he never learned those lessons or had it handed to him in that manner. It was always those unimportant things like how to find x in the equation or the correct pronunciation of certain Latin words. Today's lesson impacted him a lot more than most other lessons did. It made him realize that he wanted to seize the day for himself, but he didn't really have a reason to do that. Or at least, he couldn't find his purpose for doing it. Yet.

"Are you ready, Mr. Beilschmidt?" Mrs. Karpusi interrupted his thoughts, descending from the steps of the dorm.

Gilbert sighed. "Ready to go, Mrs. Karpusi."

He pushed aside all thoughts of those two Latin words. As of now, he had a dinner to get over with.

* * *

In the 10 years that Gilbert had stayed in Hellton, he never actually had the chance to see the town surrounding the old campus. The houses weren't as old as the school's buildings, but they also had an air of age as Mrs. Karpusi drove through the small streets. The old street lamps didn't shine enough light on the road, but it at least gave Gilbert the view of the stars that began twinkling in the dark blue sky. The Greek lady pulled the breaks a few minutes later, announcing their arrival to the Eidelsteins' house.

The teacher and the student got off the car, and Gilbert rang the doorbell. He heard a few voices behind the door ("Roderich, can you get that?" "Sorry, mom. I'm cleaning my Stradivarius.") before hearing a sweet, honey-like voice saying, "I'll get it."

The door opened in slow-motion, revealing an angel. Well, she wasn't actually a legit angel, but if someone gave her wings and a halo, she probably would look like a legit one. Her light brown hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and her bangs were clipped back by three pink flowers. Her forest green eyes seemed to smile despite the cold autumn wind, and Gilbert found himself rendered speechless. Heck, that's never actually happened before.

"Can I help you?" the girl asked after a few moments of silence.

Gilbert swallowed. How long was he staring at her? "Um… Hi. I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt. But otherwise, you can call me 'T-the Awesome One'. T-this is Mrs. Karpusi." Was he stuttering? Okay, that wasn't something an awesome one did at all.

The girl smiled. "Hi, 'The Awesome One'. Good evening, Mrs. Karpusi."

"This is the Eidelsteins' place, right?" Gilbert needed to make sure.

"Of course it is!" Mrs. Karpusi frowned. "Do you doubt my knowledge of the area, Mr. Beilschmidt?"

"N-no, ma'am," Gilbert said. _Wrong move_, he thought.

"Are you here to see Roderich?" The girl asked, holding back some laughs.

_Wait, what?_ Gilbert narrowed his eyes and pointed. "Are you… Mrs. Eidelstein…?"

She burst out laughing. "No. I'm Elizaveta Hedervary."

Before Gilbert could comprehend Elizaveta's words, an Austrian lady who was in her late 40s appeared next to the girl, looking embarrassed. She brushed her light blonde hair away from her blue eyes. "Sorry about that. Thank you, Elizaveta."

Elizaveta (which was a suitable name for her, Gilbert thought) smiled once more at Gilbert before disappearing into the house.

"I'm Maria Theresa," said the Austrian lady. "You must be Gilbert, right?"

Gilbert nodded, faking a smile. His mind was somewhere else. _Elizaveta's dating Roderich Eidelstein…? How am I going to compete with that? HOW DO I COMPETE WITH THAT AUSTRIAN PRODIGY?!_

Mrs. Eidelstein told Mrs. Karpusi that she could fetch Gilbert at nine, and motioned the Prussian to enter the house. His mind was caught up with Elizaveta as Mrs. Eidelstein had him sit in their living room. Mr. Eidelstein entered the room after. "Gilbert, how are you?" The Austrian man smiled and shook his hand. "I'm Franz Eidelstein."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Eidelstein." Those few words were Gilbert's attempt (and failure) at politeness. But the man in front of him didn't seem to notice.

"He's the spitting image of Frederick, huh, Maria?" Mr. Eidelstein remarked. "How is he?"

"He's great, actually. Just did a big case for GM," Gilbert was proud to announce.

"Ha! I know where you're headed then," Mr. Eidelstein grinned. "Like father, like son."

"Have you met our niece Clarita, by the way?" Mrs. Eidelstein smiled. "Clarita, come down here and greet our guest!"

A few seconds later an Asian girl who was probably a few years younger than him stood next to the lady, looking embarrassed. She brushed her dark brown (almost black) hair away from her chocolate brown eyes and stared intently at Gilbert, having never seen an albino before.

"Clarita, say hello!" Mr. Eidelstein insisted, snapping the girl from her trance.

"_Tito_, I told you how many times that I hate being called 'Clarita'," she said exasperatedly. "I prefer being called 'Maria', thank you very much."

"Yes, but you are not the only Maria here," Mr. Eidelstein pointed out. "That's why that nickname has to stick with you."

"Okay, okay." Maria turned to Gilbert and smiled. "_Kumusta_, _kuya _Gilbert! I am Maria Clara dela Cruz. _Kuya _Antonio and _tito_ Franz told me so much about you. I'm glad that we finally have the opportunity to meet one another!"

"Oh right," Gilbert said, realizing something. "You're Antonio's younger sister?"

"_Adopted_ younger sister," Maria corrected.

"Sit down here, Clarita," Mr. Eidelstein said, motioning to the space next to him. Maria obeyed. The father then turned to the Prussian. "Did Frederick ever tell you about the case we had together?" Gilbert shook his head. "He didn't tell you what happened?"

"No, he didn't," Gilbert replied.

"Oh, well," Mr. Eidelstein began. "We were really stuck. I was sure we had lost the biggest case of my life. Then your father comes to me and tells me, 'I can weasel a settlement, but you'll have to give me the entire fee from our client.' That son of a gun!" He laughed. "Guess what I did."

"Um… You let him have it?"

"I let him have it!" Mr. Eidelstein repeated. He broke into foolish laughter. "I was so desperate. I let your father take the whole fee!"

Mrs. Eidelstein also laughed, wiping a tear from her eye. She stood up. "Excuse me while I see how things are going for dinner."

As she exited, Elizaveta and Roderich Eidelstein (the younger, spitting image of Mr. Eidelstein) came downstairs and stood at the doorpost, smiling (Elizaveta's was just beautiful while Roderich's was just plain awkward and made Gilbert want to send him to hell) and holding hands. Roderich adjusted the strap of his violin bag.

"Dad, may I take the Cadillac?" Roderich asked.

"What's wrong with your car, Roderich?" Mr. Eidelstein asked in reply.

"_Kuya _Roderich!" Maria suddenly exclaimed. "Where are your manners?" She stood up and walked over to the couple. "_Kuya_ Gilbert, this is _kuya _Roderich. This is _ate_ Elizaveta, Roderich's girlfriend."

"Hi, Gilbert Beilschmidt," the Prussian said, allowing his tone to drop a few degrees. "We sort of met. Almost."

Elizaveta nodded, smiling.

"Yes, hi." Roderich said abruptly, imitating Gilbert's tone. "Um, dad, is it too much of a problem?"

"I bought you a sports car and suddenly you want to take my car all the time," Mr. Eidelstein pointed out.

"I understand, dad," Roderich said. "It's just that… Mrs. Hedervary feels safer when we're in a bigger car. Right, Elizaveta?"

"It's okay, Roderich," said Elizaveta. "If Mr. Eidelstein insists that we don't use it, then we'll just stick with your car."

"But—"

"It's alright. Seriously."

"No, I—"

"Shall we talk about this privately, Roderich?" Mr. Eidelstein's warm tone disappeared. He stood up and left the room with Roderich.

Gilbert coughed awkwardly and attempted to open up to Elizaveta. "So, um… Where do you study, Elizaveta?"

"Ridgeway High," Elizaveta said, eyes avoiding his. She turned away and started talking to Maria. "How do you like Assumption College, Maria?"

"It's okay if you can manage being stuck with people who only care about boys and soirees," Maria said. "Luckily I found some people who are geeks like me." She winked.

Elizaveta turned to Gilbert. "That's your sister school, right?"

"Yeah, in a way," he replied.

Maria and Elizaveta sat on the couch where Mr. Eidelstein had been seated earlier. "So, Maria, are you going to audition for Shakespeare festival this year?"

"Maybe," said the Asian. "I wanted to join last year, but I needed to pull up my grades…"

"They're doing Hamlet this year," Elizaveta said. "You really should audition, Maria. You did great as Portia in the Merchant of Venice. Maybe you can play as Ophelia this year."

"I don't know. I wanted to play as Lady Macbeth last year, but I didn't even get that role…"

"So, how'd you meet Roderich?" Gilbert butted in. As much as he wanted to know about Maria's acting problems, he kind of had his own problems. His ego fell a bit upon seeing Elizaveta's glare. "I mean… That is… Err…"

"He transferred to our school because his parents wanted to experience different kinds of people. Well, it's not that his classmates weren't unique, but his parents believed that going to a co-ed school for high school would help him handle the culture-shock of going to college better," Elizaveta narrated. "I happened to catch him playing in the music room one day, and that was how we met." She had a sweet smile on her face as she spoke, making Gilbert feel sick. The Hungarian caught herself, then continued talking. "He told me he used to study at Welton."

"Yeah. He was my classmate for a while until we graduated from grade school," Gilbert said.

Elizaveta turned back to Maria. "Really, Maria. You should audi—"

"Elizaveta?" Roderich's voice cut her short. Elizaveta looked up. "Shall we take our leave? I have the keys."

"Okay." Elizaveta rose from her seat. She smiled at Gilbert. "It was nice meeting you, Gilbert. See you next time, Maria."

"Bye, Elizaveta," he and Maria said in unison.

The couple left the room. Gilbert stood up and walked over to the window. He moved the curtains to peek at the outside. Roderich opened the door to the car, motioning Elizaveta to enter in a gentleman-like manner. Elizaveta took his hand, grinned, and planted a kiss on Roderich's lips. Roderich turned as red as a tomato and stiffened, but returned the kiss not long after.

It all made Gilbert sick.

"Something wrong, _k__uya_ Gilbert?" Maria's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"No," Gilbert lied. "No, no, no, nothing's wrong."

* * *

When Gilbert entered the students' lounge, it was a bit chaotic even if it was already 30 minutes to lights out. Kiku and Yao were working on some sort of "hi-fi system" as they called it, while Alfred, Ivan, and Francis were sitting together and working on the Geometry homework.

"Which postulate states that for every real number, there is exactly one point on the line?" Ivan asked, looking up from his book.

"The Ruler Postulate," Alfred replied without meeting his eyes.

"Thanks." Ivan wrote something in the book then smiled. "I can remember all the concepts, but I can't remember the titles. That's not good…"

Gilbert sat next to Francis. Francis looked up from his notes and grinned. "How was dinner, _mon ami_?"

The albino sighed. "Terrible. Awful. I've just discovered something worse than Hellton hash."

"Why? What happened?" Alfred asked. "Did you get emotionally scarred or something like that?"

Gilbert shook his head. "Tonight, I met the most beautiful girl in my life."

Francis whistled. "Are you crazy, _mon ami_? There is nothing wrong with that, unless it turns out she's a nun-in-training. Congratula—!"

"It's worse than a nun-in-training. She's practically engaged," Gilbert spat. "To Roderich Eidelstein."

"The Austrian prodigy, huh?" Ivan butted in. "You've got some tough competition."

"A real person is easier to compete against," Francis said. "Unfortunately I'm competing against God."

"Francis, that was a long time ago," said Gilbert. "Can we _please _focus on my problems for now?"

"_Oui_, go ahead. I don't want to be reminded of her, anyway."

"Thank you!"

"That's too bad, Gilbert," Yao joined the conversation from the table where he sat with Kiku.

"Too bad?! It's worse than too bad, Wang!" Gilbert lamented. "It's practically a Shakespearean tragedy! How am I supposed to compete with the fact that she's already in deep with that lucky bastard?"

"All the good ones go for the musicians, you know," Francis pointed out. "The quiet musicians especially. Plus the fact that Roderich has been playing violin and composing pieces ever since he was born. How are you going to beat that?"

"Shut up, Francis." Alfred frowned. "We need to help Gilbert forget about it. Hey Gil, what does the line-point theorem state?"

"I can't just forget about her, Al," Gilbert said, the seriousness in his face quite a sight to see. "And I can't just think about geometry. I'd rather focus on real problems instead of word problems."

The radio that Yao and Kiku were working on interrupted the conversation with a high-pitched hum. The Asians' eyes widened.

"We got it!" Yao exclaimed.

"Yes!" Kiku smiled.

Their joy ended around two minutes later when Mrs. Karpusi entered the room. "All right, boys. Five minutes. Let's go."

The students groaned, then packed up all their things. Yao tried to hide the radio in his lap. Francis leaned close to Gilbert and whispered, "Did you see her naked, _mon ami_?"

Gilbert scowled. "Very funny, Francis. Isn't there anything else in that brain of yours?"

Mrs. Karpusi crossed her arms and glared at Yao. "That better not be a radio in your lap, Mr. Wang. You know the dorm rules. No radios or beepers."

"It's a science experiment, Karpusi-sensei," said Kiku. "_Radar desu_."

Yao held up the antenna as if demonstrating it, but his smile didn't quite reach the dorm lady's olive green eyes.

* * *

_A/N: We've finally reached this chapter, people! Ugh, I finally got over the writer's block I had here. I'm really glad. It looks like the poetry gods finally answered my prayers, thank heavens._

_I also apologize if anyone here doesn't ship PruHun. I ship it, so I wanted to try my hand at writing a pairing that isn't my OTP, but is still as important to me._

_Try to guess which country Maria Clara (God bless her) is (even if it's sort-of obvious, to be honest here), and maybe I'll give you a cookie or a virtual hug. I don't know. Just tell me in the reviews. We will probably see her more in the future chapters. Just saying~!_

_Special shout-outs to aphrodite931, Noire Knightmare (the awesome Ariadne-sama), and X for leaving reviews! Thank you also to those who favorite-d, followed, and read this fic. I can't write a chapter without thanking all of you guys, seriously. All of you folks motivate me so much!_

_Anyways, by now you should know the drill. Leave a comment in the review box below and tell me what you thought about this chapter. Thank you and have a nice day! _


	5. Still I Rise

_Just like moons and like suns,__  
__With the certainty of tides,__  
__Just like hopes springing high,__  
__Still I'll rise._

-Maya Angelou, _Still I Rise_

* * *

**Literature: 8:35-9:25 am**

_Teacher: Mr. Romulus Vargas_

Romulus was seated at his desk in the front of the classroom. He opened up the text book on his desk and looked up to the class. "Gentlemen, open your text to page twenty-one of the introduction. Mr. Jones?"

The said boy looked up, tensing a little bit. Julius Caesar, these boys needed to relax a little more. They were too tense!

"Please read the opening paragraph of the preface, entitled 'Understanding Poetry' by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph. D."

Alfred gave a quick nod and read.

_Understanding Poetry_

_Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph. D._

_To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech. Then ask two questions: 1) how artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered, and 2) how important is that objective. Once these two questions have been answered, determining a poem's greatness becomes a relatively simple matter._

A small but noticeable "clatter" sounded out in the room as Romulus pushed his chair back and stood up. Everyone looked up for a short moment as he picked up the chalk at the board's ledge and began drawing as Alfred continued reading.

_If the poem's score for perfection is plotted along the horizontal of a graph, and its importance is plotted on the vertical, calculating the total area of the poem yields the measure of its greatness._

The reading ceased for a short moment. Romulus had drawn a Cartesian plane on the blackboard to represent what Alfred has just read. Based on the sounds of pens and paper in the quiet room, the teacher assumed that the class was taking notes.

_A sonnet by Byron may score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area._

The graph now had points representing Byron's and Shakespeare's sonnets. Romulus had shaded Byron's area to show how much smaller it was compared to Shakespeare's.

_As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will _(Alfred coughed) _so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry._

The American put his book down and took of his glasses to wipe them. After a few moments of silence (well, at least it was silent enough to hear that French boy trying to eat in class), Alfred put his glasses back on and Romulus grinned at the class.

"Bullshit."

Everyone in class looked up, flinching at the word. Yep, they really needed to relax a bit more. They weren't exactly the angels that they pretend to be in class. Heck, Romulus used to be one of them, so he of all people should know that. It's not like they weren't used to hearing that kind of language anyway.

"That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard," the teacher said the name with disgust, but his smile was still there. "We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry!"

Kiku, that Japanese student Romulus remembered for his last name, began scribbling out the notes that he had taken.

"I mean, how can you describe poetry like American Bandstand?" Romulus continued. He then pulled on a terrible Southern accent. "'Oh, I like Byron. I'd give him a 42, but I can't dance to it.' What even? HOW DO YOU EVEN—?!"

The class was more active now, laughing at his reactions.

"Now, I want you to rip out that page."

The class was suddenly silenced, staring at the teacher. He was pretty sure they were thinking that he was insane. But if no one was insane, wouldn't the world be boring?

"Go on, rip it out!" Romulus insisted. "You heard me. Rip it out! Rip it out!"

The teacher could see that Gilbert (whom he remembered as Helmut's relative) was contemplating what to do, looking down on his book.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Romulus asked.

The first rip sounded out. Gilbert grinned from the back of the classroom as everyone's eyes focused on him and triumphantly held up the pages as if they were some sort of hard-earned trophy.

"Thank you, Mr. Beilschmidt!" Romulus beamed as everyone else in the class began ripping out their pages. Then a thought just occurred to him. "You know what? Don't just tear out that page. Tear out the entire introduction! I want it gone, history! Rip it out, rip!" The sounds of tearing and shredding increased along with the laughs and grins from the students. "Be gone, Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph. D.! I want to hear nothing but ripping of Dr. Pritchard!"

Arthur, that British student Romulus remembered for his eyebrows, looked around reluctantly. He sighed, mouthed a quick "I'm sorry, book" and tore out the pages.

"We'll perforate it, put it on a roll." Romulus grinned. The teacher noticed that the Russian student named Ivan was still hesitating. He approached the Russian's desk. "It's not the Bible. You're not going to hell for this. Besides, you're already in Hellton, aren't you? Go on! Make a clean tear! I want nothing left of it."

Ivan still hesitated and turned to Alfred. "We shouldn't be doing this!"

"Rip! Rip! Rip!" The American grinned.

Ivan shook his head and obeyed.

Romulus smiled and went to his room next to the blackboard. He looked for a trash can as the rips continued sounding outside. "Rip it out! Rip!"

Hearing the students laugh made Romulus feel a lot better. Back when he had studied in Hellton, things like that weren't allowed. All that was given focus on was those subjects which really didn't benefit anyone is life. Now that he was back as a teacher, he wanted to give them an opportunity to learn the things that would affect them. No more of memorizing those formulas or reciting the whole process of the cardio-vascular system. Now, the only important thing to learn here was to not be restricted by what the books say or what others will say. The only important thing here and now was to make life extraordinary and not to let time go to waste.

Romulus' thoughts were interrupted, as the sounds of ripping and laughing suddenly ceased outside. He picked up the trashcan and walked out of the room. "What's happening here? I don't hear enough rips!"

"Mr. Vargas?" Standing in the corner of the room was Helmut, his stoic air replaced with an air of utter shock and confusion.

"Mr. Beilschmidt!" Romulus greeted cheerfully, laughing internally at his co-worker.

"I'm sorry," Helmut looked embarrassed. "I didn't know you were in here…"

"Well…" Mr. Vargas spread his arms. "Here I am!"

"Ah, so you are." Helmut gave a small smile to the class. "Please excuse me then." He slowly backed away and left the room.

"Keep ripping, gentlemen!" Romulus said, and the noises of tearing resumed. "This is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be your heart and soul."

Romulus then approached Gilbert, who'd stuffed the papers into his mouth upon Helmut's entrance. The teacher held out the trash can to the student, and the albino willingly spit the paper in the basket. "Thank you, Mr. Beilschmidt."

Romulus began going the classroom while talking, allowing the students to dump their papers into the can. "Armies of academics going forward, measuring poetry." He snorted. "No! We will not have that here. No more of Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph. D.! In my class, you will learn to think for yourselves again. You will learn to savor words and language. No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas _can_ change the world."

He had stopped in front of Yao's table. The Asian stared at him, intrigued. "I see that look in Mr. Wang's eye," Romulus remarked. "Nineteenth century literature has nothing to do with going to business school or medical school, right? Maybe."

He looked at that Polish student (Feliks Łukasiekwiz, he recalled) and pointed. "Mr. Łukasiekwiz may agree with him, thinking, 'Yes, we should totally, like, simply study our Mr. Pritchard and learn our rhyme and meter and totally go quietly about the business of achieving, like, our other ambitions and stuff.'"

The class snickered at Romulus imitation of the student. Feliks also couldn't hold back his amusement. "I have a little secret for all of you now," he continued. "Huddle up. Huddle up!"

All of the students (except for those who had chairs in the middle like Raivis, Ivan, and Alfred) got up from their seats and sat on the floor next to the teacher. Romulus smiled softly. "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute," he said, looking each and every one of them in the eye. "We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. The human race is full of passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering… These are all noble pursuits, and quite necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love… These are what we stay alive for. To quote from Walt Whitman, 'O me, o life, of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, o me, o life?' Answer: that you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on in this world that is our stage, and you may contribute a verse."

Romulus looked up to Arthur, whose emerald green eyes were deep in thought.

The teacher posed a question to the students. "What will your verse be?"

* * *

"Bless us, o Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty," the school said in unison in the cafeteria. "Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

Romulus, who in all the years spent in Welton as a student had never dreamt of having lunch here as a teacher, was doing exactly that. He sat next to Helmut at the teachers' table, which overlooked (and used to intimidate, back in the day) the student body. Romulus took the meatloaf in front of him (ick!) and dumped the (disgusting) food on his plate.

Helmut coughed and started a conversation with the Italian. "Quite an interesting class you gave today, Mr. Vargas," he remarked.

"I'm sorry if I shocked you, Mr. Beilschmidt," Romulus smiled sheepishly as he handed the German the food.

Helmut took the food and put it on his plate before passing it on. "There's no need to apologize, Romulus," he insisted. "It was very fascinating, misguided though it was."

Mr. Vargas chuckled. "You think so?"

"You take a big risk by encouraging them to be artists, Romulus," Helmut warned as the Literature teacher ate some of the hash. "When they realize they're not Rembrandts, Shakespeares, or Mozarts, they'll hate you for it."

"We're not talking artists, Helmut," Romulus pointed with his fork, speaking with his mouth half-full. "We're talking… Free thinkers."

"Free thinkers at seventeen?"

"Funny," Romulus said after swallowing. "I never pegged you as a cynic, Helmut."

Helmut looked like he was taken aback by the comment, but shook his head. "Not a cynic. A realist." He paused for a moment. "'Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams, and I'll show you a happy man.'"

"'But only in their dreams can a man be truly free.'" Romulus replied after a few moments of thought. "'Twas always thus, and always thus will be.'"

Helmut looked impressed. "Tennyson?"

"Nope." Romulus winked and pointed to himself. "Vargas."

Helmut, ignoring his stoic ideals for a few seconds, couldn't help but laugh a bit.

* * *

_A/N: It's chapter 5 already? We've hit a milestone (of some sort) here, people! Woo hoo~! *throws confetti in celebration*_

_I really like Maya Angelou even if I haven't read a lot of her works yet. I'm glad I was able to find the poem on top, because I was worried for a moment that I wouldn't be able to include a poem by her in this fanfic..._

_As for Maria Clara from the last chapter, she represents (drum roll please)… My beautiful homeland, the Philippines! Even if she's only an OC/fan-made character, I feel a really strong calling to include her here because, well, why wouldn't I try to include my home country in a fanfic about (some probably gay) countries? Thus she makes her appearance. Fun fact: she's Antonio's adopted sister because the Philippines was a colony of Spain for around 300 years!_

_Special shout-outs this chapter to MiyukoLove, Elisa C. De La Torre(for reviewing twice!), and Noire Knightmare (BTW, thanks for trying to guess who Maria was) for reviewing!_

_Feel free to leave a review! They really do mean the world to me. Thank you and have a nice day!_


	6. Requiem

_Not under foreign skies_

_Nor under foreign wings protected -_

_I shared all this with my own people_

_There, where misfortune had abandoned us._

-Anna Akhmatova, _Requiem_

* * *

Monday the week after the whole "Rip those pages!" event, Alfred was late for lunch. Crap. But at least he had a good reason for it. He went to the library before everyone said the prayer before meals, and like a miner at a river in California, struck gold.

"Hey guys," the American said, taking his seat. He pulled out a yearbook. "I found Mr. Vargas' senior annual in the library."

He handed the book to Ivan, who smiled at the picture of a _waaaaaaaaaaay_ younger-looking Mr. Vargas. "Listen to this," the Russian said. "'Captain of the soccer team, editor of the school annual, Cambridge bound, Thigh man, and the…'" Ivan squinted. "'Dead Poets Society.'"

Gilbert leaned over. "'Man most likely to do anything'?"

"'Thigh man'." Francis grinned. "Mr. Vargas must've been a hell-raiser, _oui_?"

Ivan pointed to some words as Alfred ate. "What's the Dead Poets Society?"

"I don't know. I'm as intrigued as you are," Alfred admitted, talking with his mouth full.

"Is there a picture in the annual?" Kiku asked.

"I checked it out before coming here, actually," Alfred said, swallowing. "There wasn't any other mention of it…"

Mr. Diocletian then stood up and began to make his way to their table. Francis took the annual from Ivan and hid it under the table. "The Emperor is coming!" he warned.

The head master, still carrying his air of superiority, smiled at Alfred. "Enjoying your meal, Mr. Jones?"

"Yes sir," Alfred said. They did right this time by preparing burgers for _lunch._ "Very much."

"Our Mr. Vargas," Mr. Diocletian said, motioning to the said teacher who was talking with Mr. Beilschmidt. "Finding him interesting, boys?"

"Mm-hm." Gilbert nodded. "Yes sir."

"We were just talking about that, sir." Ivan grinned.

"Good, good." Mr. Diocletian said that, but didn't smile. "He has a very impressive record. He was a Rhodes scholar, you know?" He looked at each boy in the eye, then turned and left. "Carry on."

"Carry on ripping," Gilbert whispered with a good impersonation of Mr. Vargas.

The boys began laughing again, growling "Rip, rip, rip!"

* * *

That same day after eating, Alfred, Arthur (who was dragged along, yelling a bombardment curses and swears that could send someone to the 7th circle of Dante's Hell), Francis, Gilbert, Kiku, Yao, and Ivan looked for their beloved Lit teacher in order to inquire about the mysterious "Dead Poets Society". Finding him in the large campus would be a Hell-ton of a challenge (since Mr. Beilschmidt said that Mr. Vargas wasn't in the faculty room), but luck was on their side today since they saw him walking towards the lake at the edge of the campus. As they walked behind the Italian, Alfred noticed that he was whistling that same song from last Wednesday.

"Mr. Vargas?" Alfred called. No reply. "Mr. Vargas, sir?" No reply again. There was only one thing left to say, as Alfred recalled. "'O Captain, My Captain'?"

The teacher immediately turned and smiled at the group of students. "Good after-lunch, gentlemen."

The noisier students laughed while the quieter ones chuckled. Alfred showed Mr. Vargas the annual. "We were just looking in your old annual," the bespectacled blonde said.

Mr. Vargas stared a long time at the annual before taking it, as if afraid of what horrors the book might contain. He opened to his page, where the _waaaaaaaaaaay _younger-looking version of him mocked his not-entirely-that-old age. "Julius Caesar!" he exclaimed, laughing. "That's not me. No way." The teacher flipped the page and crouched down. "Magyar 'Hun' Hedervary… ye gods, it doth amuse me how old we hath grown!"

Alfred crouched down next to the Italian. He had to rescue him before he went too far down memory lane! "What was the Dead Poets Society?" Alfred asked.

Mr. Vargas looked up, his face showing recognition. "I doubt the present empire would look too favorably upon that…"

Arthur crouched next to the teacher. "Why, Mr. Vargas? What was it?"

Mr. Vargas closed the book and spoke softly, "Gentlemen, can you keep a secret?"

"_Hai, sensei,_" said Kiku. He and the rest crouched down around the teacher.

"The Dead Poets were dedicated to sucking the marrow out of life," Mr. Vargas whispered loudly enough for all of them to hear. "That's a phrase from Thoreau that we'd invoke at the beginning of each meeting. You see, we'd gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from Thoreau, Whitman, Shelley, the biggies… Even some of our own verse. And in the enchantment of the moment, we'd let poetry work its magic…"

"You mean it was a bunch of guys sitting around, reading poetry?" Gilbert frowned, probably expecting that the Dead Poets Society was some sort of secret society like the Illuminati or the Freemasonry.

"No, Mr. Beilschmidt," the teacher corrected. "It wasn't just 'guys'. We weren't a Greek organization, we were romantics! We didn't just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey. Spirits soared, women swooned, and gods were created, gentlemen! Not a bad way to spend an evening, huh?" Mr. Vargas shook his head. "Alas, I am still a lowly initiate. The living were simply pledges, as becoming a Dead Poet required a lifetime of apprenticeship." He handed the annual back to the American. "Thank you, Mr. Jones, for this trip down amnesia lane. Burn that. Especially my picture."

The teacher walked away, whistling the same piece again. While everyone else stood up, Alfred remained crouched on the ground. "Dead Poets Society…" he muttered.

Ivan bent over. "What?"

The bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. Everyone who hung out near the lake began heading back to the school, worried about a certain dorm lady in particular. Alfred rose. "I say we go tonight."

Arthur raised an eyebrow as the American began heading back to the building. "Tonight?"

"Wait a minute," Kiku said, looking worried.

"Where's this cave he's talking about?" Yao asked.

"It's beyond the stream," said Alfred. "I know where it is."

"That's miles!" Kiku said.

"I don't know, Alfred," Ivan said, shaking his head. "It sounds boring. I think it's more fun to bash people's skulls in…"

"Then don't go, Ivan," said Gilbert.

"You know how many demerits we're talking about, Beilschmidt," Ivan replied calmly.

"Then don't bother coming," Gilbert insisted. "Jeez."

"Braginski-san has a point though," said Kiku. "We have to be careful. We can't get caught."

"That's kind of obvious, _Monsieur_ Kiku," Francis said quietly.

Their conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Karpusi yelling from the doors and telling them to hurry back inside. Alfred paid no heed and stopped walking. He turned to face the others. "All right, who's in?"

"Come on, Alfred," Arthur said, frowning. "Mrs. Karpusi is—"

"Forget her. Who's in?"

"I'm in," Francis said, hand raised. Mrs. Karpusi's voice sounded out once more, this time a warning.

Ivan sighed, but smiled. "Me too." He mimicked Francis' action.

"I don't know, Alfred," Yao said, looking down at the grass.

"What?" Alfred looked on in disbelief. "Yao—"

"Come on, _Monsieur _Wang!" Francis insisted.

"Yao's grades are beginning to suffer a little, Francis-san," Kiku mentioned.

"Then you can help him!" Alfred said. "Asian genius, right?"

"Is this supposed to be a midnight study group of some sort?" Yao raised an eyebrow.

"I won't accept dissent!" Alfred said and playfully punched the Chinese on the shoulder. "You're coming, Yao." He then turned to the Japanese. "Are your grades beginning to suffer too, Kiku?"

Kiku shrugged and smiled. "I'll try anything once."

"Except sex!" Francis winked.

While everyone else laughed, Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Well, I think it's fine as long as we're careful," Ivan said.

They all began running to the building before Mrs. Karpusi could release the hellhounds. Francis then turned to Gilbert. "What about you, _mon ami_? Aren't you normally the first one to say yes to a little rebellion and adventure?"

"I'm not so sure about this, Francis," Gilbert admitted. "Even if Ivan finds it boring for an entirely different reason, it really does sound boring. Just saying."

"Come on, _Monsieur_, what's new with you?" Francis winked. "This Dead Poets thing will help you get to Elizaveta."

Gilbert raised a brow. "Yeah? How?"

Francis pulled an impersonation of Mr. Vargas and said in the most erotic way possible, "Women swoon!" The Frenchman laughed and ran faster into the building.

"But why do they swoon?" Gilbert chased after him, confused. "Francis, tell me why they swoon." A series of "hon hon hon's" sounded out. "Francis!"

The group disappeared into the halls, heading to their next class.

* * *

Chemistry that day brought an opportunity to visit the library, where a map of the campus could be found. While everyone else in class sat and read books on the Periodic Table of Elements, Alfred, Francis, Gilbert, Yao, Kiku, and Ivan were looking at the map on their table. They listened intently to what the American had to say.

"Follow the stream to the waterfall," Alfred whispered, tracing the area on the map. He stopped and pointed to where the cave was. "It's right there. It's got to be on the banks."

"I don't know, Alfred," Ivan said. "It's starting to sound dangerous…"

"Well then," Gilbert smiled sarcastically. "Why don't you just stay in the dorm, Ivan?"

"Please stop chattering and sit down, boys," Mrs. Hassan called from the desk near the librarian's.

Alfred frowned, but took his seat back next to Arthur. The Brit was reading a book on the origins of the Table, his face showing his deep concentration. Alfred stared, interested. Whenever he saw Arthur with a book in his hands (which was very often, considering all of the books they had to study and the surprisingly fast rate in which the Brit finished his homework just so that he could read other books), it was as if the boy was in his natural territory. Alfred could probably just sit there and observe Arthur all day…

"I would be really grateful if you could stop staring at me like that, Alfred," Arthur said, not looking up from his book. "You're making me uncomfortable."

Alfred snapped out of his trance and coughed. "S-sorry." He pushed his glasses back. "Hey, are you coming tonight?"

"No," Arthur replied, still not looking the American in the eye.

"Huh? Why not?" Alfred demanded, slightly disappointed. "You were there, weren't you? You heard Mr. Vargas. Don't you want to do something about it?"

Arthur sighed and closed his book. He glared at the American. "Mr. Vargas said that everybody took turns reading. I'm sorry, but I just don't want to do that."

Alfred pouted and poked Arthur's nose. "Gosh, you really prefer staying in your 'Splendid Isolation', don't you?"

"I don't prefer staying in a 'Splendid Isolation', excuse you!" Arthur exclaimed, brushing the American's hand away. "Listen, I…" He looked down to his book, his thumb drawing lines under the title. "I don't want to do it, okay?"

"Okay, okay." Alfred raised his hands up in surrender. Then he got an idea. "Well, what if you don't have to read? What if you just came and listened?"

"That's not how it works, Alfred." Arthur's gaze had returned to the book's pages. "You can't change the past."

"We can't change the past, but we can definitely change the future," Alfred insisted. "We'll forget how it works. What if the others said that it would be okay? We'll be the only ones who know about it."

"Don't tell me you're going to go up and ask them." Arthur shook his head. "Why do you insist so badly that I come, anyway?"

Alfred was about to say something along the lines of _I like looking at you_ but that would be a bit awkward, considering the fact that he'd only known the guy for around a week and even with that, there was still very little he knew about him. The American shrugged. "I don't know. I just think that you need to open up more. You've been here for almost a week now, yet you make no effort whatsoever to actually get to know people."

"You know what, Alfred?" Arthur slammed his book shut and fake-smiled at the American. "Scratch what I said earlier. I prefer staying in your so-called 'Splendid Isolation', thank you very much. Please, just leave me alone."

"Fine, but it was my brother who coined that term, not me." Alfred stood up, confused as to why Arthur hated humanity so much. "I'm still going to ask them though."

Arthur put his book on the table and stood up. "No. No, Alfred."

The bespectacled blonde grinned. "I'll be right back." He began making his way back to Ivan and Gilbert's table.

"Bloody hell!" The Brit hissed at the American, who was already out of reach. "Alfred! ALFRED!"

"Oh shut up, will you?" Mrs. Hassan said exasperatedly, the smile on her face now gone.

* * *

_A/N: Just to point something out, there's no Lit on Fridays, which is why the last lesson that they had was the one where they ripped out the pages of the oh-so-excellent essay by Mr. J. Evans Pritchard._

_Who caught that part where Alfred said _"By the way, no one's allowed to disagree with me."_? It's supposed to be America's famous line/stock phrase from episode 1 of Hetalia: Axis Powers (__Zeme ni, hantai iken ha mitomenai zo!)_. _No idea what it is in the English dub, though…_

_So, the Dead Poets Society, like a phoenix, is being reborn from the ashes of the past! Great! And also, I really liked that thing Alfred said. ("We can't change the past, but we can definitely change the future.") I don't even know why I wrote that, but it sounded really cool to me._

_Is it me, or are there just seriously a lot of quotable stuff in this chapter? Speaking of which, I really liked that "Splendid Isolation" thing Alfred brought up. I don't know, it just seemed really appropriate in describing Artie. Me and my Hetalia references~!_

_There are actually a lot more references/puns in this chapter, but this Author's Note is getting kinda long, so just tell me in the reviews if you happened to spot any more puns!_

_Special shout-outs this chapter go to aphrodite931, PaRkJaeEun, and Noire Knightmare! Thank you so much for the reviews! Speaking of which, this fic's at almost 20 reviews! Yay!_

_Please leave a review once again on your way out. Thank you all and have a nice day! _


	7. In my Dreams

_In my dreams I am always saying goodbye and riding away,_

_Whither and why I know not nor do I care._

_And the parting is sweet and the parting over is sweeter,_

_And sweetest of all is the night and the rushing air._

-Stevie Smith, _In My Dreams_

* * *

Boys, being the gross testosterone lumps that they were, seemed to have no sense of order whatsoever when it comes to using the dorm's bathrooms in the evenings. It was almost like a war straight out of Tolkien's books, where everyone was pushing and killing just to get the One Ring, or in this case, to get to the bathroom sinks.

It was during these moments of noise that Arthur would try to slip into Alfred's so-called "Splendid Isolation", because, really, who wouldn't try to find peace of mind in a bloody war zone? He'd, without actually saying anything, called dibs on the area (and the sink) near the window as his comfort zone should he be in the bathroom. It was here he'd observe the other students live their lives, because observing was certainly another good way to learn about one's surroundings.

For example, that Ivan guy really liked bullying that poor Latvian boy named Raivis. Someone was playing snake charmer music on a kazoo while Ivan played with Raivis' inhaler, making it move to the music like a snake. Raivis tried grabbing it from the Russian, but the height difference was too big.

"That's…" said Raivis desperately. "That's for my asthma, Ivan…! Could you give that back please…? Could you give it back…?"

"What's the matter?" Ivan asked innocently. "Don't you like snakes?"

Alfred then approached Arthur, who was watching the whole Ivan the Terrible scene with a sickened expression. The American snapped his fingers, making the Brit's attention shift from the Latvian to the bespectacled blond. "You're in!" Alfred said and disappeared again into his circle of friends.

Arthur blinked once. Then twice, to make an assurance double sure. Why the heck was that burger-loving bastard so insistent that he come, anyway?

"Please leave me alone, Ivan," Raivis said.

"Raivis, why don't you check your pocket, _да_?" Ivan then put his hand on the boys head, as if forcing him to become shorter. "Come on, now. I have to brush my teeth."

"P-please, stop!" Raivis stammered.

The whole Ivan the Terrible scene was interrupted when Mrs. Karpusi yelled from outside, "Cut out that racket in there!"

The kazoo player let out a rude squeak before finally stopping.

* * *

Alfred opened the door slowly, leaving a small crack for him to peep through. It was already two hours after lights out, so it would spell out hell for him if Mrs. Karpusi could see he was still awake. He looked across the hall to the other room where Kiku and Francis were standing. The Asian gave a thumbs up, the Frenchman winked, and the American grinned at the two.

The bespectacled blonde closed the door quietly and picked up his favorite jacket (a bomber jacket with a gigantic 50 at the back which once belonged to his grandfather) and a flashlight. Setting his flashlight on his desk, he noticed a worn book entitled _Five Centuries of Verse_. He looked to Arthur, who was curled up in the corner reading a book called _Pride and Prejudice_.

"Hey, Artie?" Alfred asked, raising the book. "Since when was this here?"

Arthur looked up from his book. "Mr. Vargas told me to give it to you since you wanted to restart the whole Dead Poets Society thing. You weren't around when I came back here, so I just left it on your desk."

Alfred nodded and thanked the Brit. He opened it and saw Mr. Vargas' name written on the top followed by the words _Dead Poets_. The following was written below the book's title in neat cursive:

_To be read at the opening of D. P. S. meetings_

_I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately._

_I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life,_

_To put to rout all that was not life, and not, when I had come to die,_

_Discover that I had not lived._

* * *

Shadows of hooded figures danced across the walls as the group of students attempted their daring escape to the Indian cave. The only thing that lit the darkened halls were the rays of the flashlights and the glow of the waxing moon. Caligula, the loyal guard dog that he was, woke up upon hearing the sounds of footsteps. He barked as he was trained, but was silenced as soon as the student with jet black hair gave him doggy biscuits and pat him on the head.

The group quietly left the building and ran across the fields towards the woods. The water of the lake nearby reflected the moon's glow like a mirror, and all was silent aside from the pitter-patter of rushed footsteps and the occasional chirps of crickets. As they ran further into the woods, the trees' shadows began growing, blocking out the feeble light they had.

The boys began searching around the trees to find the cave after seeing the stream that Alfred had mentioned. Kiku was searching around when Francis leaped up from behind him and shined the flashlight on his face. The Frenchman grabbed Kiku by the shoulder and grinned. "Arr, I'm a dead poet!" he exclaimed in a failed attempt at imitating a pirate.

Kiku chuckled. "Francis-san!"

Francis laughed as well and pointed to the cave he found. "Guys, here it is!"

Kiku shook his head as he entered the cave. "You're funny. You're real funny."

The other students entered the cave, and Kiku attempted to start a fire so that they could stay warm despite the autumn winds. Starting a fire was a good idea, but the ground was too wet and the cave was already filling up with smoke.

Yao coughed, trying to swat the smoke away. "_Aii-yah_,Kiku! Are you trying to smoke us out of here?"

Kiku shook his head in apology. "Please deal with it for a little while. But don't worry." He pointed at the small opening on the cave's ceiling. "The smoke is going through this opening.

Ivan attempted to stand up, but slammed his head into the low rock ceiling. The others laughed as the Russian rubbed the affected area. "Are you okay?" Alfred wheezed.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Ivan shook his head, smiling sheepishly.

"You know what? Forget the fire, gentlemen," Arthur said, sitting down. "Let's just get this over with."

Alfred nodded and took center-cave. He opened the book and grinned at the group. "I hereby reconvene the Dead Poets Society," the American declared.

Everyone clapped, cheered and hooted at those few words. Gilbert opened a box of cigarettes and motioned for anyone who wanted to get one. (Arthur didn't get one because he was trying as hard as possible to get rid of that habit, and seeing the opened box in front of him definitely wasn't helping him.) Alfred nodded again, silencing the group.

"All right, Welton chapter," the American continued. "The meetings will be conducted by me and the other new initiates now present." He motioned to the Brit. "Arthur Kirkland, because he prefers not to read, will keep minutes of the meetings. I shall now read the traditional opening message by society member Henry David Thoreau:" Alfred gave a quick "ahem". "'I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.'"

"I'll second that," Francis interrupted.

"'To put to rout all that was not life,'" Alfred continued, "'and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.'"

The more outgoing students whistled softly in reaction to the poem, while the quieter ones clapped slowly. Alfred began flipping through the book. "Mr. Vargas marked a bunch of other pages here as well."

"All right, intermission!" Gilbert declared. He pointed to a spot on the ground. "Dig deep right here. Right here, lay it down."

Ivan raised a brow. "On the mud? We're going to put our food on the mud?"

Gilbert turned to Yao. "Mr. Wang, put your coat down. We'll use it as a picnic blanket."

Yao sighed and shook his head. "Yes, sir. Use my coat." He took it off and placed it on the ground.

"Don't hold anything back either," Gilbert said as people put in their food. "You guys are always bumming my smokes."

Everyone dumped their food on it. Amongst the pile were chocolate chip cookies, a box of scones, a few apples, an orange, and half a roll.

"Scones?" Alfred raised a brow. Arthur's face lit up, because those were scones that he found time to bake. _Was someone actually going to ea—?_

"Disgusting," Francis said, and just like that, the Brit's face darkened again.

"Wait a minute." Gilbert pointed out the half of a roll. "Who put this piece of shit here?"

Ivan faced forward. "I'm eating the other half," he declared with his mouth full.

"Oh, come on," Gilbert said in disgust.

"You want me to put it back?" Ivan asked innocently.

"Hell no! Do you want all of us to die of the Plague?!"

* * *

"It was a dark and rainy night, and this old lady, who had a passion for jigsaw puzzles, sat by herself in her house at her table, trying to complete a new jigsaw puzzle," Kiku narrated, features illuminated by the flashlight. "But as she pieced this puzzle together, she realized, to her astonishment, that the image was her very own room. The figure in the center of the puzzle, as she completed it, was herself. With trembling hands, she placed the last four pieces and stared in horror at the face of a demented madman at the window." The Asian grinned like the said madman. "The last thing that this old lady ever heard was the sound of breaking glass—"

Kiku was interrupted by Alfred, who was screaming as if he was the old lady in the story. Everyone in the group laughed and sarcastically said "Oh no!"

"This is a very true story," the Asian concluded. "It happened at exactly—"

"Please stop, please stop, please stop, PLEASE STOP!" Alfred begged him.

Ivan raised his hand and smiled. "I've got one that's even better than that! It's going to scare Alfred shitless!" he declared. Kiku nodded at the Russian and handed him the flashlight. The temperature dropped a few degrees as Ivan began telling his story.

"There's a young, married couple, and they're driving through the forest at night on a long trip," he narrated. "They suddenly ran out of gas, and there's a madman on the—"

"Isn't this the story with the hand thing?" Francis interrupted, turning on his flashlight. Everyone (except for Arthur, since he had no idea what they were referring to) reacted, recalling the story and miming the scraping on the roof of the car.

The Russian frowned and pulled his scarf up to cover his red cheeks. "I love that story!"

"I told you that one," Francis pointed out.

"No you didn't," Ivan argued. "It was Katyusha who told me that in sixth grade."

"When were you in sixth grade, last year?" Gilbert mocked.

As everyone's voices began to calm down, Yao borrowed the book from Alfred and began reading out loud. "'In a mean abode in the Skankill Road, / Lived a man named William Bloat. / Now, he had a wife, the curse of his life, / Who continually got his goat. / So one day at dawn, with her night shift on, / He slit her bloody throat.'" The boys laughed. "It gets worse!" Yao added.

"Okay, who wants to hear a real poem?" Francis said, rising. Yao handed him the book, but the Frenchman shook his head. "No need for it, _mon ami_. You take it."

"Eh? You brought one, Francis-san?" Kiku said, amazed.

"You memorized a poem?" Alfred said, amused.

"I didn't memorize it. Move up, _Monsieur_ Alfred," the Frenchman said. Alfred laughed and sat next to Arthur as Francis took center-cave.

"An original piece by Francis Bonnefoy!" Gilbert smirked.

"An original piece," Ivan repeated.

"Take center stage, Francis-san!" Kiku motivated.

"Guys, this is history," Alfred declared. "This is a historical event in the making."

Francis cleared his throat and grinned. He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and slowly unfolded it, revealing a Playboy centerfold of a pretty French woman in her early 20s. Her hair was tied back into a bun and she was lying down on a bed, her skirt raised slightly to show off her long legs and a portion of jacket unbuttoned to show the full shape of her breasts.

"Oh, wow," Kiku deadpanned.

"Where did you get that?" Yao asked.

"'Teach me to love? Go teach thyself more wit,'" the Frenchman read. "'I, chief professor, am of it.'" Alfred stood up and looked over Francis' shoulder to see what he was reading. "'The god of love, if such a thing there be, / May learn to love from me.'" Francis mock-bowed as everyone clapped and cheered.

"Did you write that yourself?" Alfred asked.

Before Francis could respond, Arthur interrupted. "'The Prophet' by Abraham Crowley. I'll have to admit, that's a good choice for a poem, Frog-face."

Francis stuck his tongue out at Arthur. "Compliment accepted, Eyebrows. So, who would like to take center stage?"

Alfred took Francis' place and read from the book. "Alfred Lord Tennyson, 'Ulysses'." He raised a brow, and then chuckled. "More like Alfred Fucking Jones!" He paused, his features taking on a serious expression. "'Come my friends, / 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world, / For my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset. / And though we are not now that strength which in old days / Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; / One equal temper of heroic hearts, / Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will. / To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.'"

Everyone applauded Alfred, but the one who looked affected by it the most was Arthur. The American bent over and grinned. "Why so affected, Mr. Kirkland?"

The Brit smiled genuinely, causing Alfred's heart to skip a quick beat. "Alfred Lord Tennyson is one of my favorite poets, and Ulysses is one of my favorite poems," he explained. "The way you made the words flow so easily, the amount of emotion that you put in each line… It really brought it to life." He shook his head. "I owe more tears to your reading than you shall see me pay. So, in the tears I cannot shed, I'll say three words: Great job, Alfred."

The bespectacled blonde blushed, never expecting those words to come out of his roommate's lips. He returned the smile. "Thank you, Arthur."

"Okay, okay! I'm next!" Gilbert interrupted. He took Alfred's place and read his poem like he was performing a chant. "'Then I had religion, then I had a vision. / I could not turn from their revel in derision. / Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black, / Cutting through the forest with a golden track.'" Gilbert looked up from the book, grinning. "'Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black, / Cutting through the forest with a golden track.'"

Francis grinned and joined Gilbert. "'Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black, / Cutting through the forest with a golden track.'"

Gilbert kept on repeating those two lines as more joined in. Ivan picked up a metal container and began using it as a drum. The other boys (except for Alfred and Arthur, who were both laughing in the corner) stood up and began walking in a circle, making music with things like sticks and combs.

"'Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black, / Cutting through the forest with a golden track,'" they all repeated. "'Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black, / Cutting through the forest with a golden track.' 'Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black, / Cutting through the forest with a golden track.'" They continued chanting the chorus as they emerged from the cave along with Alfred and Arthur, and only began running back to the dorm as the two a.m. bell began ringing throughout the campus.

* * *

_A/N: Is it me, or is the USUK starting to blossom? I don't know~! *freaky laughter*_

_Did anyone catch the Julius Caesar reference in this chapter? Just wondering…_

_I has two bloopers! They go something like this:_

Blooper 1: Shadows of hooded figures danced across the walls as the group of students attempted their daring escape to the Indian cave. The only thing that lit the darkened halls were the rays of the flashlights and the glow of the waxing moon. Caligula, the loyal guard dog that he was, woke up upon hearing the sounds of footsteps. He barked as he was trained, but was silenced as soon as the student with jet black hair gave him doggy biscuits and pat him on the head.

_Kiku Honda used bribery through food,_ the student thought, amused as he stroked the dog's head. _It's super effective._

Blooper 2: The Brit smiled genuinely, causing Alfred's heart to skip a quick beat. "Alfred Lord Tennyson is one of my favorite poets, and Ulysses is one of my favorite poems," he explained. "The way you read it really brought it to life… I would cry if I could, but I can't. I'm British."

_Special shout-out (no 's', sadly) this chapter goes to Noire Knightmare! Also, we've hit a milestone again! This fic now has 20 follows, 14 favorites, and over 700 views! Yay~! Thank you so much to all the readers out there who were able to make all these numbers possible._

_Again, feel free to leave a review. Thank you very much and have a nice day!_


	8. Sonnet 147

_My love is as a fever, longing still_

_For that which longer nurseth the disease,_

_Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,_

_Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please._

-William Shakespeare, _Sonnet 147_

* * *

It was a cold, autumn day in mid-October, the orange leaves from the trees outside the classroom waltzing with the music of the wind. Mr. Vargas was having another cheerful session with his class. He paced back and forth between the aisles. "A man is not tired, he is exhausted. And don't use sad, use—" He quickly turned and pointed to the back of the classroom. "Come on, _Monsieur_ Bonnefoy, you twerp!"

Francis stood up as the school's protocol stated. "Um, morose?"

"Exactly! Morose!" The teacher began pacing again. "Now, language was developed for one endeavor, and that is?" He snapped his fingers in front of Arthur's eyes, causing the boy to look up from his notes. "Mr. Kirkland? Come on! Are you a man, or an amoeba?"

Arthur simply glared, his eyes saying, _Fuck no, I don't want to recite. _The teacher paused for a moment before turning away. "Mr. Jones?"

Alfred stood up. "Uh, to communicate."

"Nope. Wrong!" Mr. Vargas slammed his hand down on an imaginary buzzer. "Thank you for playing anyway." The class laughed. Alfred laughed with them as he sat down. "We use language to woo women, gentlemen!" Mr. Vargas went back to his desk and took out a book with a familiar face on the cover. "Today, we're going to talk about William Shakespeare!"

Majority of the class let out a collective sigh, but Arthur looked excited.

"I know, I know," Mr. Vargas agreed. "A lot of you look forward to this about as much as you look forward to root canal work. But worry not! We're going to talk about Shakespeare as someone who writes something very interesting. Now, many of you have seen Shakespeare done very much like this:" The teacher held out his right arm dramatically and said in an exaggerated British accent, "'O Titus, bring your friend hither.'" The class laughed, and even Arthur (who occasionally liked putting emphasis on his British lineage) couldn't help but laugh.

"But if you've seen Mr. Marlon Brando,—" Upon the mention of the name, Alfred looked up excitedly, "—you know, Shakespeare can be different." Mr. Vargas then pulled an amazing imitation of the said actor. "'Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.'"

The class laughed, and Alfred looked like he was about to faint. (The burger-loving bastard was a HUGE fan of the Godfather.)

"You can also imagine, maybe, John Wayne as Macbeth going," To which, Mr. Vargas made another flawless imitation, "'Well, is this a dagger which I see before me?'"

The class that day ended with smiles and laughter (plus a new found respect for the Bard himself).

* * *

A Lit period one day late in the month brought all of the students near the front of the room, where Mr. Vargas was conducting a dramatic reading of a certain book.

"'Dogs, sir?'" he read with a Scottish accent. "'Oh, not just now. I do enjoy a good dog once in a while, sir.'" A few chuckles resonated in the room. "'You can have yourself a three-course meal from one dog. Start with your canine crudités, go to your Fido flambé for main course, and for dessert, a Pekingese parfait.'" More laughs again. "'And you can pick your teeth with a little paw.'" The teacher added, mimicking the action and causing more laughter.

* * *

One day in late November, Mr. Vargas had written a quote on the blackboard by Walt Whitman. "'Creeds and schools in abeyance… I permit to speak at every hazard, nature without check, with original energy,'" he read, then turned to the class and began pacing through the aisles again.

"Ah, but the difficulty of ignoring those creeds and schools, conditioned as we are by our parents, our traditions, by the modern age. How do we, like Whitman, permit our own true natures to speak? How do we strip ourselves of prejudices, habits, and influences?"

The teacher then ran back to the front and leapt up onto his desk. "Why do I stand up here?" he asked. "Anybody?"

"To feel taller," Francis supplied without raising his hand, making people laugh.

"No! Wrong!" Mr. Vargas tapped the bell on his desk with his foot. "Thank you for playing anyway, _Monsieur _Bonnefoy." He put on a serious air, but kept smiling. "I stand upon my desk to remind all of you that the answer to the previous question is that we must constantly look at things in a different way."

"You see, the world looks really different from up here." The teacher glanced around the classroom from the top of the desk with an amused expression. Some students shook their heads. "Don't believe me? Come see for yourself. Come on. Come on!"

Ivan and Alfred quickly rose from their seats and went to the front of the classroom. The rest of the class rose slowly and followed the two. "Just when you think you know something, you have to look at it in another way. Even though it may seem silly or wrong, you must try!" Mr. Vargas continued speaking. He jumped off his desk as Alfred and Ivan stood on it. (Surprisingly, the desk didn't break under that amount of weight…) "Now and then, when you read, don't just consider what the author thinks. Consider what you think!"

Alfred and Ivan jumped off the desk. Feliks and Toris (the Lithuanian friend of the Polish student) took their turn.

"Boys, you must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all." The two jumped off the desk. Francis and Gilbert took their turn. "Thoreau said, 'Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.' Don't be resigned to that. Break out!"

Mr. Vargas noticed Francis and Gilbert leaving the desk immediately, probably finding the whole thing ridiculous. "Don't just walk off the edge like lemmings!" The teacher exclaimed. "Look around you."

The bell signaling the end of the period rang as the boys continued climbing onto the desk. Mr. Vargas gathered his stuff and walked to the back of the classroom. "There! There you go, Mr. Galante! Thank you! Yes!" The teacher cheered. "Dare to strike out and find new ground!" Then he pulled on a mischievous expression. "Now, in addition to your essays, I would like you to compose a poem of your own, an original work."

The students groaned. Mr. Vargas laughed evilly and began flicking the lights on and off. He hummed the American National Anthem loudly. "That's right!" he insisted. "You have to deliver it aloud in front of class on Tuesday. _Buona fortuna_, gentlemen."

He stepped out into the hall before quickly peaking back in once again. Arthur was the last one to stand on the desk and was about to jump off when the teacher called him. "Don't think that I don't know that this assignment scares you shitless, Mr. Kirkland. You may doubt your writing skills, but with the amount of books you were able to read and the quality of all those essays you've submitted, this should be nothing to you."

Arthur frowned, but Mr. Vargas simply laughed and flicked the light off again. The Brit jumped down from the desk in the darkness.

* * *

While everyone else was participating in their club activities (since Thursday meant clubs and clubs meant more free time), Kiku and Yao snuck away from their club mates and found themselves alone together at the roof of the bell tower.

Yao's face was flushed, and his expression showed worry. He leaned against the wall. "Are you sure we should do this, Kiku…?"

"Of course we should!" said Kiku, standing up. "We've been planning on this for weeks now! Are you saying that you're backing out on me?"

"No! I really want to do it, it's just that…" Yao looked down and toyed with the loose threads of his blazer. "What if we get caught? Do you know how many demerits that would mean?"

"It's all right. We'll be fine," Kiku insisted, taking Yao's hands. "We're the only two here. I know the cleaners' schedules. They're not coming today, see? No one will ever know."

"Really…?" Yao looked everywhere that wasn't Kiku's face, still holding his hand.

"_Carpe diem_, remember?" Kiku said softly.

He wondered for a moment if it would be good to stop now, refuse, and try again some other time. He was going to suggest that, but he looked deeply into Kiku's eyes. They were full of wisdom, speaking words that he could probably never bring himself to say, and it gave him the strength to continue…

"All right." Yao smiled. "Let's do it."

"You won't regret it!" Kiku said. He sat down and the two began working on their makeshift radio. Yao climbed to the roof and placed an antenna so that the radio could receive signals. Noisy static was replaced by music as Yao climbed down. Kiku smiled. "We got it, Yao! We got it! FREE RADIO AMERICA!"

* * *

_Let's Enjoy Today!_

_A poem (and eventual song, maybe?) by Arthur Kirkland_

_A common practice for a noble one is an afternoon tea break._

_The flowers blooming at the Thames' banks are too pretty to be fake._

After a series of crumpled papers, broken pencils, and slamming pillows on his useless brain, those were two lines of poetry Arthur was able to produce. Heck, it didn't make sense, and it certainly didn't help that it he still had a Hell-ton of other homework to do.

"_You may doubt your writing skills, but with the amount of books you were able to read and the quality of all those essays you've submitted, this should be nothing to you."_

Yes, if only Arthur's love for books was enough to give him the skills needed just to compose this stupid poem. He was about to tear the page out of his notebook and crumple it up so that it would join its fellow failed poems in the trash bin when Alfred burst into the room laughing. Arthur quickly turned his notebook over as the American sat down at his bed and shoved a bunch of papers in his face.

"I found it, Artie! I found it!" he said excitedly.

"That's great!" Arthur said, and then looked confused. "Wait. What did you find?"

"What I wanna do right now," Alfred said. "What's really, really inside me."

The Brit looked at the papers Alfred brought. They were posters of different people, but the word at the bottom was what they all had in common. "'Hamlet'?" he asked with a thick eyebrow raised.

"This is it," Alfred declared.

"Uh…" Arthur still didn't get it. "What is this, exactly?"

"I thought that you of all people would know, Artie!" He said with an amused expression. "It's a play by William Shakespeare."

"Of course I know that!" Arthur retorted. "I'm British, for crying out loud! What I'm asking is what does it have to do with you?"

"Oh right, sometimes I forget that you're a transfer." Alfred took the papers from Arthur. "Assumption College, a school that's maybe a five-minute walk away from here, is Welton's sister school. Every year, they have this thing called the 'Shakespeare Festival' where they pick a certain play and perform it. Since this year is the tenth year of Shakesfest, the Lit department of AC is having open tryouts for students and teachers from Welton. Isn't it great?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess." Arthur said. "So…?"

Alfred rose, pulled his blanket off his bed, and tied around his neck, wearing it like a cape. "I'm gonna act!" he declared. "Yes, yes! I'll be an actor! Ever since I could remember, I've wanted to try this. I even auditioned for a play when I was ten, but I couldn't go since my mom died and my dad made me study to become a doctor… I became convinced of it even more when you said all those nice things about my reading of 'Ulysses'. For the first time in forever, Artie, I know what I wanna do!" Alfred tossed the papers in the air. "And for the first time in forever, I'm gonna do it, whether my father wants me to or not!" He took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his lungs, "_CARPE DIEM_!"

Arthur was genuinely glad that his roommate was happy, but Alfred wasn't thinking realistically. "Wait, Alfred, hold on a minute," he said, interrupting the American's happy dance. "How are you going to be in a play if your father won't let you?"

"First, I gotta get a part," Alfred said half-seriously. "Then I can worry about that."

"Okay, but won't he kill you if he finds out you auditioned and didn't even tell him?"

"No, no, no, no." Alfred shook his head. "As far as I'm concerned, he won't have to know about any of this."

"I hate to ruin your dreams, Alfred, but that's impossible."

"Bullshit! Nothing's impossible. The word itself says, 'I'm possible'."

"Then if it nothing's impossible," Arthur challenged, "Why don't you just call him and ask him? He might allow you."

Alfred huffed, arms crossed. "That's a laugh!" He untied the blanket and tossed it back on his bed. "If I don't ask him, at least I won't be disobeying him."

"But if he said—"

"Jesus Christ, Arthur!" Alfred shouted, glaring at the Brit. "Whose side are you on?"

Arthur didn't say anything. The Brit never expected that Alfred had that side to him. Heck, he thought that it was practically impossible for the bespectacled blonde to get mad.

Alfred sat down on his bed and looked outside the window, his excitement gone. "I mean, I haven't even gotten a part yet," he said softly. "Can't I even enjoy the idea for a little while?"

Arthur kept his mouth shut this time, flipping back to the page with the two lines. As much as Alfred was annoying as Hell when he was happy, that guy was a lot better than the guy who was seated on the bed next to his.

A few seconds of silence that felt like hours flew by. Alfred then slid to the ground and knelt next to Arthur's bed. "Hey, are you coming to the meeting this afternoon?"

"I don't know," Arthur said, looking at the book. "Maybe."

"Nothing Mr. Vargas has to say means shit to you, does it, Artie?" Alfred said in annoyance.

Arthur closed his notebook and glared. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Alfred boosted himself up with his arms and sat again at Arthur's bed. "You're a member of the Dead Poets, Artie! Being in the club means you're stirred up by things. You look about as stirred up as a cesspool."

"Then you can just count me out if you're upset that I simply think realistically," Arthur spat.

"I don't want to count you out, Artie! I really want you in!" Alfred took Arthur's hands, and the Brit found himself staring at the American's blue orbs. They took on a darker shade now, just like the night sky moments after the sunset. "But being in means you gotta do something, Artie. Not just say you're in."

Arthur sighed at how his face had suddenly gotten warm and released himself from the American's grasp. "Listen, Alfred. I appreciate that you're concerned and all, but I'm not like you, okay? People listen to you when you say something. People recognize you when you do something great. I'm not like that, and I'll never be like that."

"Don't you think you could be?" Alfred asked.

"I don't know, but that's not the point, Alfred. The point is there's nothing you can do about it. Just leave me alone. I can take care of myself just fine, okay?"

Alfred shook his head. "No."

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"No," Alfred repeated, and before Arthur could say anything the American grabbed his poem notebook and ran out of the room with it, laughing his head off.

Arthur leaped up and ran after him. "Give me—" He panted while running. Curse that burger-loving bastard and his energy and his mood swings and his freakishly handsome face! "Alfred! Alfred, give it back!"

* * *

The American ran out of the dorm building with an angry Brit chasing him from behind. They ran through the classroom halls, the cafeteria, and eventually reached the lake where Mr. Vargas told them about the Dead Poets Society. It was almost like the Revolutionary War all over again!

"'Let's Enjoy To—' Poetry! I'm being chased by Shakespeare! Okay, okay!" Alfred exclaimed and stopped. He handed the notebook back to Arthur, who had slowed to a stop behind him. His face was red, his breathing came out strained, and he bent over in exhaustion. But when he looked up at the American, he grinned and began laughing.

Jesus Christ, Arthur was laughing. It's been ages since something like that happened. Nowadays it was just eye-rolling, chuckles, or smiles, but never full-blown laughter. Arthur was laughing and laughing, and laughing, and Alfred realized it was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard.

Ivan approached the two, chemistry book in his hands. Francis and Gilbert trailed behind him. "Hey, what's happening here?" Ivan asked. "Oh yeah, I'm sure… You see this chemistry—"

Alfred suddenly grabbed Ivan's chemistry book and ran. Arthur followed, laughing. Ivan ran as well confused.

"Give it back!" cried the Russian. "Don't be immature, Alfred. I need it!"

Francis and Gilbert also laughed and began running after them. The Frenchman waved his hands. "Give it to me! Give it to me!"

"Catch!" Alfred threw it at him. The whole situation eventually became a game of catch the book, with Ivan begging to get his book back and Arthur having the most fun he'd had in ages.

The day, unfortunately, ended on a sour note when Mr. Beilschmidt caught them and gave them demerits for the maltreatment of a book.

* * *

_A/N: I HAS THE BLOOPERS FOR THIS CHAPTER AS WELL! OH YEAAAAAAAAH!_

Blooper 1: "You won't regret it!" Kiku said. He sat down and the two began working on their makeshift radio. Yao climbed to the roof and placed an antenna so that the radio could receive signals. Noisy static was replaced by music as Yao climbed down. Kiku smiled. "We got it, Yao! We got it! FREE RADIO AMERICA!"

The two began dancing like gigantic dorks to the first song that played, because FUCKING HELL, FREDDIE MERCURY UNDERSTOOD THEM SO MUCH. They began singing really off-key to "Under Pressure" and that was how Mrs. Karpusi found them later on. She gave them two demerits for almost making it rain on the campus.

Blooper 2: "I don't know, but that's not the point, Alfred. The point is there's nothing you can do about it. Just leave me alone. I can take care of myself just fine, okay?"

Alfred raised his hands up in surrender. "Okay."

"Okay."

Alfred winked. "Okay."

Arthur raised a brow. "Okay."

"Maybe 'Okay' can be our 'Forever' or something," Alfred suggested.

"What the hell does that even mean?"

_Meh, I don't really know if those were funny, but they were spur of the moment things. Maybe I'll write a whole fic dedicated to bloopers…? Hell no. But since there will probably be a lot of time skips in this story, maybe I'll make a whole fanfic dedicated to "other things" that happened… Maybe, depending on how much time I have to write stuff._

_Fun fact: Let's Enjoy Today, in case you don't know, is the fourth image song of England. It's my favorite song because the lyrics are as cute as flying mint bunny, and I can totes imagine England singing this in the event that he's forced to sing something. Yeah. I did some research on the wiki, and apparently the anime's website said something like, "England's fairy rock is still alive! A catchy tune that it just perfect for singing on a huge stage live." Exactly what I meant about this song._

_Special shout-out (no 's' again) this chapter goes to Noire Knightmare once more. Thank you so much for reviewing every chapter! Your reviews really keep me going. Thank you also to all who followed and favorite-d this fanfic. All the support you guys give is greatly appreciated!_

_Please, leave a review on your way out. Thank you and have a nice day!_


	9. Eros

_O king of joy, what is thy thought?_

_I dream thou knowest it is nought,_

_And wouldst in darkness come, but thou_

_Makest the light where'er thou go._

-Robert Bridges, _Eros_

* * *

Before the afternoon when Alfred and Arthur were playing their game of "Catch the Book", Gilbert was riding his bike around in circles near the school's entrance. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, not a cloud to be seen. The mid-autumn breezes were trying to freeze him up at most, but all in all he enjoyed the scenery of the hills, a green canvas that was now covered with streaks of orange, red, brown, and yellow.

After seeing no one nearby, he raced through the open gates and down the road. He came to the top of a hill that overlooked the town and let his bike slide downhill on the grass. The Prussian grinned as the wind brushed his face, and yelled "_CARPE DIEM_!" at the top of his lungs. His voice, ringing out loud and clear, echoed all over the hills, and sent an immense flock of geese back to the skies.

Gilbert then rushed to Assumption College, where a soccer match was being held between the said school and Ridgeway High. Since the match had already ended, the albino had to weave his way through the cars, cheerleaders, and team supporters. All Ridgeway High students were decked in blue and heading to their bus so that they could be brought back to their school.

Call it fate, destiny, or Gilbert's semi-awesome vision, but he managed to find Elizaveta smiling and laughing among some friends. They all wore soccer jerseys, so Gilbert assumed that Elizaveta was in the school's soccer team. Roderich (that lucky bastard) approached Elizaveta and congratulated her for, what Gilbert assumed, winning the competition. The Hungarian smiled and took the Austrian's hand, causing the Prussian to look away in disgust. The coach then called all students to get on the bus, and Elizaveta locked her arms with Roderich as the two followed the coach's instructions.

Gilbert sighed, turned his bike around, and left the "happy" place feeling far from that.

* * *

The next day, Alfred skipped Lit since the period fell on the time allotted for the play's auditions. Mr. Vargas, for the first time since the beginning of the school year, did a roll call in class. (Arthur assumed it was because another teacher could come in at any moment, like what happened during the whole "Rip those pages!" event.)

"Answer 'present', please." The Italian looked to his papers. "Bonnefoy?"

"Present."

"Jones?" No reply. "Alfred Jones?"

Mr. Vargas glanced at Arthur. "He's auditioning for Shakesfest, sir," the Brit replied.

"Oh, that thing in AC? I see," the teacher replied and looked once again at his class list. "Galante?" No reply again. He looked up. "Raivis Galante? Absent too, huh?"

"Raivis is totally sick, sir," said Feliks.

"Hmm. Sick indeed." Mr. Vargas shook his head. "I suppose I should give him demerits for not providing an excuse letter. But if I give Galante demerits, I will have to give Jones demerits… and I like Jones…"

The teacher snorted, crumpled up his papers and dumped it in the trash bin. He picked up his brief case along with a net with soccer balls inside it, slung it over his shoulder, and rose. "Boys, you don't have to be here if you don't want to. Anyone who wants to play, follow me."

Since a lot of people loved Mr. Vargas, everyone in class stood up and followed the teacher. They went out to the soccer field which was a little messy due to the falling leaves, but playing on it was still possible. The teacher kicked a ball in front of him and spoke as they walked. "Now, devotees may argue that one sport or game is inherently better than another. For me, sport is actually a chance for us to have other human beings push us to excel."

The group reached the stands. Mr. Vargas tossed his net aside and put his briefcase down. He pulled out a notepad. "I want you all to come over here and take a slip of paper. Line up single file." He began ripping of slips of paper from the notepad and handed them to Yao and Kiku, who were first in line.

"Mr. Wang, become as interesting as your name," he said as he handed the paper. "Mr. Honda, become as awesome as the car company." He gave the notepad to another student. "I want you to hand these out to the boys, one apiece."

After everyone got their piece of paper, Mr. Vargas blew a whistle. "You know what to do, Wang! Read it out loud, then kick that ball!"

"'Oh to struggle against great odds. To meet enemies undaunted,'" the Asian said nervously.

"Sounds to me like you're daunted!" the teacher commented. "Say it again, like you're undaunted!"

"'Oh to struggle against great odds. To meet enemies undaunted!'" Yao said repeated loudly and gave his soccer ball a good kick.

"Thank you! Next."

Toris stepped forward as the teacher put a new ball in front of him. "'To be a sailor of the world, bound for all ports!'" The Lithuanian exclaimed and kicked the ball away.

"Next. Louder!"

"'Oh, I live to be the ruler of life, not a slave!'" declared Feliks, and he too gave the ball a good kick. Mr. Vargas gave Feliks the task of putting the new balls on the ground, and the teacher started up a record player. Arthur immediately recognized the song that was playing. It was "Autumn", by Antonio Vivaldi.

It was Arthur's turn. "'To mount the scaffolds. To advance to the muzzle of guns with perfect nonchalance.'" He kicked the ball.

Kiku was next, but was taken aback slightly by the music. Mr. Vargas encouraged him, and the Asian read: "'To dance, clap hands, exalt, shout, skip, roll on, float on!'"

"Yes! Thank you, Mr. Honda!" Mr. Vargas exclaimed as Kiku kicked the ball.

Gilbert stepped up and said without energy, "'Oh, to have life henceforth the poem of new joys.'" He crumpled up his paper and barely tapped the ball with his foot.

"Oh, boo!" Mr. Vargas said with a look of disgust. Francis took his place at the front of the line. "Come on, Francis. Let it fill your soul!"

Francis grinned and raised his hands over his head. "'To indeed be a god!'" he declared, and kicked the ball with all of his strength.

* * *

That afternoon, Alfred ran as if it was the end of the world. But surprisingly, he didn't feel tired. Maybe it was the adrenaline kicking in, or maybe it was just because he was probably the happiest man alive that his lungs were pumping the oxygen he needed to keep his legs moving forward. He raced through the dorm's halls and immediately knocked on Gilbert's door, which was the first room upon entering.

"Gil, I got the part!" Alfred declared excitedly. "I'm gonna play Hamlet! I'm gonna play Hamlet!"

Kiku peeked out of his room upon hearing the ruckus. "What did you say, Alfred-san?"

Francis also peeked out. "Hamlet?"

Alfred grinned at the Asians as Gilbert opened the door. "I'm playing as Hamlet!"

"Great job, Al!" Gilbert congratulated.

"_Félicitations, mon ami_!" Francis applauded. "Good for you, _Monsieur._ Good for you."

Alfred bowed and ran into his room. Arthur was seated on his bed, still attempting to write a poem. The Brit closed his notebook and rose. "I heard you got the lead role. Congratulations. But what are you going to do now?"

The American sat down at his study desk and stared at his typewriter. "They need a letter of permission from my father and Mr. Diocletian." He began typing.

"Oh no." Arthur frowned. "Don't tell me you're going to write it!"

Alfred turned and grinned. "Oh yes, I am."

"You're crazy, Alfred!"

"Crazy for life, Artie."

"That's insane!"

"Is it?" Alfred grinned. "Okay. 'I am writing to you on behalf of my son, Alfred Foster Jones'…" He began laughing and smiling like a child on Christmas morning. "This is gonna be great!"

* * *

_A common practice for a noble one is an afternoon tea break._

_The flowers blooming at the Thames' banks are too pretty to be fake._

_The city lights seen from the window sill is the greatest landscape._

_Seeing Hampstead after lots of rain is the most perfect escape._

_Do not run away, _

_No matter come what may._

_Our pride and dignity _

_Should be held on tightly._

_A resounding bell is heard, and you can see that it's Big Ben!_

_With four loudly ringing notes, it announces noon again._

_Our history and morals are things that we need to preserve._

_Ladies and gentlemen, no matter when, don't let our splendid glory ever swerve._

Those were the lines of poetry Arthur was able to produce. He was pacing in circles around the room as he sang the poem he had written. It wasn't that bad, but he still wasn't satisfied with it. There was no way he was going to recite (and there definitely was no way he was going to sing) this in Lit today, even if the Pope paid him to. He'd probably become the laughing stock of Welton if he submitted this shit.

A knock interrupted the Brit and Alfred peeked in from the doorway. "Hey Artie?" he said, wearing a strange expression. "Breakfast time. We're having pancakes today!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll meet up with you downstairs," Arthur said. The American nodded and left.

Arthur sighed and stuffed his poem into his pocket, wishing Mr. Vargas never put up this assignment.

* * *

"To Elizaveta," Gilbert said, standing in front of the room with his poem in his hands. Francis looked up from his desk with a grin while murmurs began going through the room. Everyone was hushed by Mr. Vargas at the back, who seemed genuinely interested in what Gilbert had written.

_I see a sweetness in her smile._

_Bright light shines from her eyes._

_But life is complete; contentment is mine,_

_Just knowing that—_

Several students began to snicker. Gilbert sighed. "Just knowing that she's alive," he concluded and crumpled up his poem. "Sorry, Captain. It's stupid."

Mr. Vargas pat the Prussian's back as he went back to the front. "No, no! It's not stupid. It's a good effort!" he insisted. "It touched one of the major themes, love. A major theme in poetry, but also life." Mr. Vargas faced the class when Gilbert returned to his seat and glared. "Mr. Łukasiekwiz, you were laughing. You're up."

Feliks sighed and walked to the front of the classroom. He unfolded his piece of paper. "The cat, like, totally sat on the mat," he said, and head back to his chair.

Mr. Vargas clapped slowly. "Congratulations, Mr. Łukasiekwiz. Yours is the first poem to ever have a negative score on the Pritchard scale." The class chuckled as Feliks turned red. "We're not laughing at you, we're laughing near you!" Mr. Vargas exclaimed. "I don't mind that your poem had a simple theme. Sometimes, the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things, like a cat, or a flower, or rain. You see, poetry can come from anything with the stuff of revelation in it. Just don't let your poems be ordinary. Now, who's next?"

The teacher approached the desk at the left corner of the classroom, where Arthur was seated. "Mr. Kirkland, I see you sitting there in agony. Come on, King Arthur. Step up and pull the sword out of the rock."

Arthur shook his head. "I didn't do it, sir. I wasn't able to write a poem."

Alfred was about to say that Arthur did write a poem (well, it was more of a song really). The American heard the Brit singing that adorable song that morning. It came as a surprise to Alfred since he never thought that Arthur would have it in him to sing, but the American found himself mesmerized by the voice that he had never heard before. The lyrics were cute, a little weird, and almost everything that Alfred expected Arthur thought about with his stupid British pride, but with every single word that flowed out of his mouth, a huge ounce of heart was put into it. Alfred was looking forward to the possibility of the Brit singing it in Lit today, but that apparently wasn't happening since King Arthur was so goddamn insecure.

Mr. Vargas smiled sadly and looked to the class. "Mr. Kirkland here thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn't that right, King Arthur? Isn't that your worse fear?" Mr. Vargas looked down to the Brit. "Well, I think you're wrong. I think that you have something inside of you that is worth a great deal."

The teacher walked up to the blackboard and began to write a quote. "'I sound my barbaric _YAWP!_ over the rooftops of the world.' W.W." He turned to the class. "Uncle Walt again. Now, for those of you who don't know, a 'yawp' is a loud cry or yell. Now, King Arthur, I would like you to give us a demonstration of a barbaric 'yawp'. Come on. You can't yawp sitting down. Let's go. Come on. Up."

Arthur reluctantly stood up and followed Mr. Vargas to the front. Alfred almost felt sorry for him, because the Brit almost resembled a fish out of water.

"You need to get in 'yawping' stance," Mr. Vargas instructed.

Arthur straightened. "A yawp?"

"No, not just a yawp. A barbaric yawp!"

The Brit crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Yawp," he said quietly.

"Come on! Louder!"

"Yawp," Arthur repeated again, but only a little bit louder than the first time.

"No, that's a mouse. Come on. Louder!"

Arthur glared at the teacher. "Yawp!"

"Julius Caesar, boy! Yell it like a man!"

Arthur snapped and shouted, "YAWP!"

Mr. Vargas grinned. "See? You have a barbarian in you after all!" Arthur huffed and attempted to return to his seat, but Mr. Vargas stopped him. "Now, don't think you'll get away that easily. This is what you get for not doing your homework!" Mr. Vargas made the Brit turn around and point to a picture of Walt Whitman on the wall. "The picture of Uncle Walt up there," he pointed. "What does he remind you of? Don't think. Answer."

"A madman?" Arthur replied questioningly as Mr. Vargas began pacing in circles around him.

"What kind of madman? Don't think about it. Answer again."

"Uh… A crazy madman?"

"You can do better than that, Your Majesty!" Mr. Vargas exclaimed. "Free up your mind! Use your imagination! Say the first thing that pops into your head, even if it's total gibberish!"

Arthur's features contorted into deep concentration, and he said, "A sweaty-toothed madman?"

"Julius Caesar!" Mr. Vargas grinned. "There's a poet in you after all! Now close your eyes. Go ahead. Close 'em!" Arthur did as told. "Describe what you see." The teacher covered the student's eyes to make an assurance double sure. They began to spin around, as if dancing to music that only they could hear.

"Err, I close my eyes," Arthur said. "And this image floats beside me."

"Is it a sweaty-toothed madman?" Mr. Vargas prodded.

Arthur nodded. "A sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brain."

"That's excellent!" Mr. Vargas applauded. "Now give him an action. Make him do something."

"His hands reach out and choke me," Arthur said.

Mr. Vargas stopped spinning and removed his hands from the Brit's eyes, but they remained shut. "That's it! Wonderful!"

"And… And all the time, he's mumbling," Arthur continued, covering his eyes with his hands.

"What's he mumbling?"

"'Truth. Truth is like…'" Arthur tried to search for the words. "'Truth is like a blanket that always keeps your feet cold.'"

The students began laughing, and Arthur opened his eyes. Mr. Vargas quickly gestured for him to close them again. "Forget them. They aren't here. Stay with the blanket. Tell me about the blanket."

"'You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough,'" Arthur said, almost screaming. "'You kick it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying, to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream.'"

Arthur slowly opened his eyes, afraid of what might be waiting for him. Mr. Vargas was kneeling, staring at Arthur in admiration. Everyone in class stared at him in silence, amazed. Alfred then stood up and clapped, cheering for him. Francis, Kiku, and many others followed, all clapping and cheering at the poem Arthur created on the spot.

Mr. Vargas rose and pat Arthur's shoulder. "Don't you forget this," he whispered, and Arthur smiled as an assurance.

* * *

_A/N: I apologize for updating this a bit later than I thought I would. The reason behind it is that I went to a place without wi-fi on the day I was supposed to update. But to make up for it, here's the update, along with a new cover that I found time to draw! Feel free to check out my deviantART account (linked at my profile) to see the full picture, because I had to crop it for the sake of it fitting in the space. _

_This chapter was really fun for me to write! I really loved the part at the end when Mr. Vargas unlocked the poet within Arthur. It was a really nice part in the movie, and I can only hope the way I wrote it brought enough justice to the scene._

_Also, the poem that Artie wrote (the song I mentioned in the chapter before) is actually like my English sing-able version of the song (since it's actually in Japanese). I like turning Japanese songs into English lyrics when I'm bored, so this probably won't be the last time we'll see Arthur singing his heart out._

_Special shout-outs! The first one goes to Noire Knightmare! Thank you for motivating me with a review every single chapter. Your support really means a lot to me. The second shout-out belongs to BeautifulDesertFoxglove! Thank you for expressing your love of bloopers, and I apologize for the lack of bloopers in this chapter… Third, a special shout-out to Englisch! Thank you for putting so much thought into a fanfic that is merely the product of a fourteen-year-old's summer boredom. Lastly, thank you to all those who followed and favorite-d! Your support encourages me to keep on writing even if I sometimes get unmotivated._

_Anyways, feel free to leave a review. Thank you all and have a nice day!_


	10. The Footsteps of Giants

_Foundations crumble when brave men dream,_

_When stars are brought to earth,_

_The sleepers wake to sing and dance,_

_And death gives way to birth._

-Sidney E. Johnson, _The Footsteps of Giants_

* * *

"What are you writing?"

Arthur looked up, probably not expecting someone to call him out. He was seated under one of the trees in the school's huge garden, where he immediately ran off to as soon as he finished his meal. The early December cold caught him and left him with red cheeks. He was wearing a scarf to keep himself warm, and he immediately pulled it up to cover his face. The Brit flipped his notebook over to hide what he wrote and looked away, embarrassed.

"You're not going to show me?" Alfred asked and sat next to Arthur. The Brit was frowning, looking everywhere that wasn't Alfred's face. "Artie, the whole purpose of writing is to let people read it. A writer's job is to show everyone his most private parts! If you're too embarrassed to show it, you won't accomplish anything."

"You're disgusting," Arthur said flatly, the red in his cheeks increasing.

Alfred paused, realizing what he said. He blushed and raised his hands in denial. "N-no! Don't take it that way!" he stammered. "I just want to see what you're writing! I don't mean your private parts!"

"Please stop. You're making it worse."

"O-okay."

An awkward silence settled between the two, but it was easily broken with Arthur's chuckling. "They're song lyrics," he explained. "I was meaning to present this in Lit during the last meeting, but I'd gotten a writer's block." Alfred couldn't contain his shock well, and it could be seen all over his features. Arthur frowned. "Is it that shocking?"

"N-no, it's not that!" Alfred looked up to the leaf-less branches, searching for the words. "I think it's really cool. I guess that anything Mr. Vargas says actually does mean shit to you, Artie. Can I see them?"

"Hell no. They're not finished." Arthur pinched Alfred's ear. Hard. "And I told your burger-filled brain how many times already, stop calling me 'Artie'! It's Arthur, for crying out loud. Arthur! A-R-T-H-U-R! Arthur!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Alfred said. Arthur let go of his ear. "Whatever, Artie!"

"Ugh."

Another silence. Arthur hesitated, then turned his notebook over to continue writing. Alfred scanned the little words there were, or at least the words that weren't blocked by Arthur's hand.

_Let's Enjoy Today!_

_A poem (and eventual song, maybe?) by Arthur Kirkland_

_A common practice for a noble one is an afternoon tea break._

_The flowers blooming at the Thames' banks are too pretty to be fake._

_The city lights seen from the window sill is the greatest landscape._

_Seeing Hampstead after lots of rain is the most perfect escape._

_Do not run away, _

_No matter come what may._

_Our pride and dignity _

_Should be held on tightly._

_A resounding bell is heard, and you can see that it's Big Ben!_

_With four loudly ringing notes, it announces noon again._

_Our history and morals are things that we need to preserve._

_Ladies and gentlemen, no matter when, don't let our splendid glory ever swerve._

_With just a pea coat and a pretty suit, I can dress up really great._

_This elegant sense is a thing that one cannot simply imitate._

"It's terrible, isn't it?" Arthur asked, smiling sadly. "It was only a spur-of-the-moment thing. I don't even know why I wrote it."

"No, it's really good," Alfred admitted. It amazed him that Arthur was able to write such a cute poem. Heck, it was a song even. "It'll be a lot better if you keep at it, though. When you finish it, can I see it?"

He was quiet for a few moments, but he nodded. "Alright."

A cold wind blew by them, causing Alfred to shiver. Arthur sneezed. If it had been an ordinary sneeze or quiet sneeze, maybe the American wouldn't have noticed it. But it was both a loud sneeze and the kind of sneeze that, were Arthur a girl, child, or small animal (which he certainly wasn't), would've been endearing. Cute, even.

Arthur sniffled and sighed. "It's going to be winter soon, huh?"

Alfred nodded. "Yeah. Do you like cold weather?"

"I love it." Arthur said with a small smile.

"I can't stand winter. I like spring better."

"You're just too cold-blooded," Arthur declared. Alfred frowned, but the Brit looked amused, probably because the American wasn't expecting that under-handed jab.

"That's cruel, Artie! If there's anyone who's cold-blooded here, it's obviously you! Saying all those things even if we've been roommates for how many months now… Aren't we friends?"

"If friend is what you mean by someone whom you drag along with you when you do something stupid, then yes. I'm your friend."

Alfred stayed silent, taking Arthur's words in. He was right. Even if they had been staying in the same room all that time and even if Alfred always dragged Arthur into things the Brit didn't want to do, they only looked at one another from far away. The Brit would always hide behind a book to avoid reality, and sometimes the American just gave up trying to get to know him.

Alfred wondered why Arthur's comment got to him. For some odd reason it worried the bespectacled blonde, and he hated that feeling that was stirring up in his gut. He looked at Arthur. The Brit's eyes didn't have any trace of anger, but a melancholic look could be seen.

"Okay, then," the American said, trying to change the whole acquaintance thing Arthur started. "What do you know about me?"

"Your life is an act," Arthur began after a moment of silence, catching Alfred off-guard. "To your father, to your friends, even yourself… But when you're not acting, it's like you have no verse to contribute to the world. You refuse to acknowledge it, but you're as confused as I was when I first came to this blasted institution. You only play roles to please others, you're never really honest about how you feel, and the only thing that you stand for is an illusion."

"I-illusion? What do you—?"

"I'm not done." Arthur cut him off. The Brit looked straight at him now, and Alfred was forced to stare at his green orbs. They took on a softer shade now, but they still gleamed like emeralds. "But when you're not acting, you're one of the most fun people to be around. Sure, you may be a glutton with an amazing metabolic rate, but that only scratches the surface of how interesting you actually are. You're one of the most talented people I have ever met, and you're the nicest person I've met here. I always thought that I would end up hating this place, but you… You're the reason why I stay here. Even if I hate this school, even if I hate people like Frog Face and that insane-in-the-membrane Russian, even if I hate the fact that I'll be caught up in my brother's shadows even more here… I don't mind staying because I like you."

"You… like me?" Alfred asked quietly, still comprehending the shower of compliments Arthur gave. The American had been showered with compliments before, but the ones now were more like fresh air that he didn't know he needed. For some odd reason, Arthur made everything different.

"Yeah," Arthur admitted with a smile, but tensed a few seconds later. "Don't take it the wrong way, though. I only mean it as a friend. I don't mean anything else."

"I get it," Alfred said. He felt a smile come on his features as well, a whole wave of warmth washing over him. It was strong enough to fight away the winter breezes, yet it still felt so fleeting, as if the warmth could easily slip away from his fingers. "Thank you, Arthur."

Arthur huffed, and the bell signaling the end of lunch rang. The Brit stood up and stretched out his hand. "You coming?"

Alfred took it. "Of course."

* * *

The next day was warm and sunny enough for an outdoor Lit session, which was certainly needed due to the amount of stress that came with the few weeks left before Christmas break. Kiku, Ivan, and Yao were walking around the school's courtyard at Mr. Vargas' command, the aforementioned teacher watching the boys with an amused look.

"No grades at stake, gentlemen," Mr. Vargas reminded, noticing how tense the three looked. "Just take a stroll."

After a few moments, push came to shove and the three boys began marching to the same beat like soldiers in a marching band. Mr. Vargas wore a bemused expression, and the rest of the class began clapping to the rhythm of their steps.

"I don't know, but I've been told," Mr. Vargas sang.

"I don't know, but I've been told," the class sang back.

"Doing poetry is old."

"Doing poetry is old."

Mr. Diocletian looked out of the office, alarmed by the sound of singing voices from outside of his window. He saw that Mr. Vargas was marching along with the trio now, imitating an officer. "Left, left, left-right-left. Left, left, left-right-left. Left, halt!"

Kiku, Ivan, and Yao came to a halt as commanded. Mr. Vargas thanked the three and motioned for them to join their classmates. "If you've noticed," the teacher began. "Everyone started off with their stride, their own pace." He began pacing slowly across the courtyard. "Mr. Wang took his time. He knew he'll get there one day. Mr. Honda, you could clearly see him thinking, 'Is this right? It might be right. It might be right. I know that. Maybe not. I don't know.'"

The class laughed. Kiku flushed sheepishly.

"Mr. Braginski on the other hand was driven by a deeper force." Mr. Vargas began skipping happily, running through an imaginary field of sunflowers. The class laughed and Mr. Vargas stopped. "Yes. We know that. Alright. But I didn't bring them up here to ridicule them. I brought them up to illustrate the point of conformity: the difficulty in maintaining your own beliefs in the face of others."

Mr. Vargas looked at each student in the eye while speaking. "I see the look in your eyes. You're probably thinking, 'I would've walked differently.' Well, ask yourselves why you were clapping." He paused for a few seconds. "Now, we all have a great need for acceptance. But you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the heard may go—" Mr. Vargas imitated a goat. "'That's baaaaaaad.'"

The chuckles encouraged the teacher even more. "Robert Frost said, 'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.' I want you now to find your own way of walking. Your own way of striding, pacing, anything goes! Any direction, anything you want. Whether it's proud, whether it's silly, anything." He motioned to the courtyard. "Gentlemen, the courtyard is yours."

The students began walking about, some walking casually, others making up silly walks. "You don't have to perform. Just make it for yourself." Mr. Vargas tilted his head, noticing that Francis was leaning against one of the pillars. "_Monsieur_ Bonnefoy? Will you join us?"

Francis grinned. "Exercising the right not to walk, sir."

"Thank you, _Monsieur_ Bonnefoy! You just illustrated my point." The teacher turned back to his students. "Don't go with the flow. Swim against the stream, boys."

Mr. Diocletian moved away from the window where he had been watching them, expression far from amused.

* * *

A Lit lesson before Christmas break brought Mr. Vargas and important lessons about college. He was standing in front of the classroom, papers in hand and slide projector within reach. The teacher grinned at the class.

"Gentlemen, today we will consider a skill which I consider indispensable for getting the most out of college… analyzing books you haven't read," he began. "College will probably reduce all the effort I made to make all of you like poetry into ashes. Hours of boring analysis, dissection, and criticism will definitely see to that. College will also expose you to all manner of literature, much of it transcendent works of magic which you must devour, some of it utter blah which you must avoid like the plague."

Mr. Vargas paused, looking to see if the class was listening.

"Suppose you are taking a course entitled 'Classic Novels'," Mr. Vargas continued. "All semester you have been reading masterpieces such as the touching _Brothers Karamazov_ by Fyodor Dostoevsky and the moving _El Filibusterismo_ by Jose Rizal, but when you receive your assignment for your final paper, you discover that you are to write an essay on the theme of familial love in _The Doubtful Debutante_, a novel – and I use that term generously here – by none other than the professor himself!"

Mr. Vargas raised a brow to emphasize his point. "After reading the first three pages of the book, you realize that you would rather volunteer for the army than waste your precious earthly time infecting your mind with sewage. But do you despair? Take an F? Absolutely not, because _you_ are prepared."

The teacher began pacing between the aisles while he spoke. "Open _The Doubtful Deb _and learn from the jacket that the book is about Vash Zwingli, a banker who sacrifices everything to provide his social climbing sister Lilli with the debut she so desperately desires." He went back to the blackboard and began writing a summary for people to take note of.

"Number 1: Begin your essay by disclaiming the need to restate the plot while at the same time regurgitating enough of it to convince the professor that you've read his book," Mr. Vargas explained. "Number 2: Shift to something pretentious and familiar afterwards. For instance, you may write, 'What is remarkable to note are the similarities between the author's dire picture of family love and a family from one of the works you may have been required to read. Lilli _is_ Juliana de Dios. Vash _is _a fallen Tata Selo."

Mr. Vargas picked up a few papers from his desk. "Lastly, Number 3: skip to the obscure and elaborate like this:" He began reading from his papers. "'What is most remarkable is the novel's uncanny connection with Hindu philosopher Avesh Rahesh Non. Rahesh Non discussed in painful detail the discarding of family by children for the three-headed monster of ambition, money, and social success.'" He put the papers back on his table. "Go on to discuss Rahesh Non's theories about what feeds the monster, how to behead it, blah blah blah blah blah. End by praising the professor's brilliant writing and consummate courage in introducing _The Doubtful Deb_ to you."

Kiku raised his hand and stood up. "Oh Captain, My Captain… What if we don't know anything about someone like Rahesh Non?"

Mr. Vargas grinned mischievously. "Rahesh Non never existed, Mr. Honda. You make him or someone like him up. No self-important college professor such as this would dare admit the ignorance of such an obviously important figure. You'll probably receive a comment similar to the one I received."

He picked up his papers again and read. "'Your allusions to Rahesh Non were insightful and well presented. Glad to see that someone besides myself appreciates this great but forgotten Eastern master! Great job. A plus.'"

The teacher casually dropped the papers back on his table. "Gentlemen, analyzing dreadful books you haven't read will be on your final exam, so I suggest you practice on your own. Now for some traps of college exams!" Mr. Vargas beamed. "Take out a blue book and a pencil. This is a pop quiz."

Although a collective sigh went through out the classroom, the boys obeyed. Mr. Vargas passed out the tests and set up a screen in front of the room. He set up the slide projector and began speaking. "Big universities are crowded Sodoms and Gomorrahs filled with those delectable beasts we see so little of here: females." Francis looked up at the word. "The level of distraction is dangerously high, but this quiz is designed to prepare you. Let me warn you, this test takes up a huge percentage of your final grade. Begin."

The students began answering their tests. Mr. Vargas began whistling Ode to Joy as he put a slide in the projector. A picture began to appear on the screen in front, and the boys did a double-take upon seeing the photo. An American girl, college age, was leaning over to pick up a pencil. She was well-formed, and bending over as she was, her cleavage could be seen.

Mr. Vargas chuckled. "Concentrate on your tests, boys. Twenty minutes."

The teacher changed the slide, showing a picture of an Italian lady in scanty lingerie. The students were trying in vain to take their tests, but only three people were able to look away, and those three were none other than Gilbert, Alfred and Arthur. Gilbert had written "Elizaveta, Elizaveta, Elizaveta" at the side of his paper, Alfred was thinking about Arthur and Shakesfest, and Arthur was thinking about Alfred and his song.

Mr. Vargas' torture-slideshow continued on with beautiful women in revealing clothes posing provocatively, tight blow-ups of naked female Greek (and Roman, of course) statues, and it just kept going on and on. The students could only try in vain to answer the tests that the same teacher had given them.

* * *

Arthur hated the fact that the guy whom he admired most was taking away the guy who was his only friend.

He continued writing the lyrics to his song, the cold December wind blowing by him as he sat under the old apple tree in the school's gardens. Ever since Alfred had joined Shakesfest, he hadn't been at school as often as before. Practice often required staying at AC's auditorium for around two hours after school, leaving the Brit all by himself whenever Tuesday or Thursday came. And as much as the so-called 'Splendid Isolation' came more often now that the American was preoccupied with something else, it was anything but splendid. Arthur was beginning to miss the noisy American during the afternoons.

The Splendid Isolation was giving him enough time to finish writing the lyrics to his song, at least. But without meaning to, Arthur suddenly looked up and saw the tallest tower in the school, the same place where Kiku and Yao played their radio. The distance between the roof and the ground was enough to kill anyone, or at least anyone who was willing to climb over the fence and jump.

"_You can do much better than that, Arthur."_

"_I wish I could be more like him. Loved, respected, listened to…"_

"_You don't deserve to live."_

"_Try this. It will make you feel much better."_

"_Would it be easier if I just jumped off? Nothing would change if I died…"_

Pandora's Box was opened without meaning to, and all of the bad memories came back to Arthur. Those constant pressures from parents, the unkind words from Alistair and Colin, and the small doses of nicotine that increased his depression by a long shot... Just looking at the tower reminded the Brit of those times when he was at his old school's roof, fingers intertwined with the chain-link fence, debating whether climbing over it and jumping off would be a good idea.

_I am a dream that's only somebody's child play._

_Would it be fine if I just ended my own life one day?_

But the good memories remained at the bottom of the Box. The encouraging words of Dylan, the support of Mr. Vargas along with the Dead Poets Society members, and most of all, Alfred and his smile... That smile always made Arthur feel better, even when things obviously weren't okay. That smile may just be the reason why Arthur still stayed in this blasted institution.

Smile. That word stuck with Arthur for some odd reason.

_Just by my own self living on and being here,_

_Tell me, why are you smiling at me in that way?_

At once, a new idea hit him, and he began scribbling down his thoughts on a new sheet of paper.

_Colorless Self-Injury_

_A poem (and eventual song, hopefully) by Arthur Kirkland_

Maybe he should dedicate this song to the burger-loving bastard. Christmas was around the corner, the music room was available, and it seemed like a good idea. He resumed his writing, the warm feeling in his chest enough to fight the winter chill.

* * *

_A/N: "Colorless Self-Injury" (otherwise known as Jishou Mushoku or Self-Injured Acromatic) is a song written by nekobolo and sung by Hatsune Miku. Personally I prefer Hanatan's cover of the song, but if you would like to check it out (and I don't recommend that you do yet, since Arthur only wrote the first stanza and the bridge, if that's what it's called) look for Hetaloid England's cover. I don't really like Hetaloid, but England's cover of that song is one of the few exceptions._

_The things that Arthur is writing (Let's Enjoy Today and Colorless Self-Injury) are my original English lyrics for the song, by the way. They're all in Japanese, so I used the translation as a basis and tried to make it rhyme. It's sing-able, so if you recognize the song or listened to it so many times that you memorized the melody, you can sing my cover~!_

_Also, I bring a very important announcement! I will be going on hiatus for around two weeks, as my family and I are going out of the country and I am not sure if I will be able to update during the weeks that I am out. I truly and deeply hope that I will be able to, so let's just pray I'll be able to find the time (and wi-fi) in my busy schedule to update chapter 11._

_Special shout-outs to (the awesome) Noire Knightmare and (the mysterious) X! Thank you so much for your reviews! :)_

_Please do leave a review, and thank you for reading the stuff I write!_


	11. Fear Itself is Undefined

_I lay on my bed soaking my pillow with my tears._

_I try to remember exactly what it is I fear._

_Is it the passing of time or the love I lack?_

_Is it the mistakes that I've made or the fact that I can't bring the past back? _

-Bianca Flores, _Fear Itself is Undefined_

* * *

That weekend brought another meeting of the Dead Poets at the old Indian cave. Yao, Francis, and Gilbert were all smoking on their pipes while Kiku and Ivan unwillingly became a victim of second-hand smoking.

"Attaboy, Yao," Francis insisted."Breathe deeply."

"My dad collects a lot of pipes," Kiku said lightly.

"Really? Mine's got thirty," Francis bragged.

"Your parents collect pipes?" Yao asked. "That's really interesting."

Gilbert, who was sitting quietly in some corner, suddenly became the center of attention because "sitting quietly" was something he simply never did. Francis grinned. "Come on, _mon ami_! Join in."

"_Hai_, Gilbert-san," Kiku added in jest. "We're from the government. We're here to help you."

"What's wrong?" Yao asked.

"Ah, it's probably Elizaveta again." Francis pulled another centerfold out of his pocket and shoved it in Gilbert's face. "Here's a picture of her for you."

"Smoke that! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!" Yao said.

"That's not funny," Gilbert said flatly, wearing an angered expression that he rarely had on. The glare was enough to silence the group, so they continued smoking their pipes in silence.

After a few minutes, Alfred and Arthur entered the cave. The Brit was carrying a beat up light stand and the American was carrying a grin like a child on Christmas morning. "Friends, scholar, Welton men," Alfred said with a (terrible) imitation of Marlon Brando.

Kiku pointed to the thing in Arthur's hands. "What is that, Arthur-san?"

"Well it's obviously a lamp, Kiku," Yao said.

The pair sat down and Arthur grinned mischievously. "Scholars, Welton men, and lovers, I present to you—" Arthur took the shade of the lamp and revealed the shape of a man at the base of the lamp "—The god of the cave."

"The god of the cave!" Alfred repeated loudly.

Francis then took out a case and presented his saxophone. He began making loud noises with it, causing all the other members to cringe.

"Aii-yah, Francis! Are you trying to make us deaf?" Yao asked.

"Shall we start this meeting, _mon amis_?" Francis asked with a grin. He stood up and cleared his throat. "Gentlemen. 'Poetrusic' by Francis Bonnefoy." Francis began playing erratic notes again, much to the approval of the rest of the group.

"Laughing, crying, tumbling, mumbling. Got to do more. Got to be more." More erratic sounds. "Chaos screaming, chaos dreaming. Got to do more! Got to be more!"

He began playing a real piece now, a song unfamiliar but pleasant to the listeners' ears. It was a sad R&amp;B number, drawing attention from all people in the cave. Francis played it passionately, the number lasting for maybe two minutes, and it ended with the Frenchman kneeling. The group applauded when Francis stopped playing, amazed at his unknown talent for music.

"Wow!" Kiku exclaimed.

"That was nice," said Ivan. "Where did you learn to play like that?"

"My parents made me take the clarinet for years," Francis explained. "I hated it. I would've picked the saxophone over the clarinet any day. The saxophone is more… sonorous."

"Wow, vocabulary." Arthur rolled his eyes.

Gilbert suddenly jumped up, shocking everyone in the cave. He exhaled loudly. "I can't take it anymore!" the albino declared. "If I don't have Elizaveta, I'm seriously going to set the whole school on fire."

Kiku put on a genuinely worried look. "Gilbert-san, please calm down…"

"Sorry, Kiku." Gilbert shook his head and smiled sadly. "That's just my problem. I've been calm for all the wrong things. I think it's about time I did something about that."

"What are you going to do? Where are you going?" Francis asked as Gilbert exited the cave.

The Prussian peeked back in with a mischievous grin on his features. "I'm going to call her." He chuckled and ran back to the dorm. Everyone grabbed their coats and jackets excitedly and began chasing after him. Francis allowed a tune of victory to sound from the sax as the group chased after Gilbert.

* * *

"Hello?"

Gilbert immediately hung up and looked at the other boys who were all gathered around him. "She's going to hate me. The Eidelsteins will hate me. Well, I don't really care about them, but my parents are going to kill me!" He sighed, took a deep breath and looked at all of his friends in the eye. They stayed silent, but their smiles were all the support he needed. "Alright, God darn it. _Carpe diem_, even if it kills me!"

The rest of the boys cheered as Gilbert put in another coin and called Elizaveta's number. After a few rings, the Hungarian picked up. "Hello?"

Okay, he could seriously just rest in peace now because he heard her voice again. "Hello? Elizaveta?"

"Yes?"

"Uh, hi. This is Gilbert Beilschmidt. Remember? From the Eidelsteins?"

A pause on the other line. "Oh right, you're the 'Awesome One'! I'm glad you called."

Gilbert put his hand over the telephone and beamed at his friends. "She's glad I called!" The group gave thumbs up's and Gilbert turned back to the phone.

Elizaveta continued speaking. "Listen, Roderich's parents are going out of town this weekend, so we're having a party. Would you like to come?"

Gilbert turned back to his friends. "Would I like to come to a party?"

"Say yes, say yes!" Francis insisted, whispering.

"Well, sure," Gilbert replied to Elizaveta.

"Great! It's on Friday, at about seven in the evening."

"Okay. I'll be there, Elizaveta."

"You'd better be! Friday night at the Eidelsteins'. Remember that."

"Friday night at the Eidelsteins'. Got it."

"Okay. I'll see you then. Bye."

"Bye." Thus the call ended. Gilbert couldn't contain his joy anymore, so he let his barbaric yawp sound over the rooftops of the world. Some well-earned applauding and cheering went on in the background. "Can you believe it?" he said breathlessly. "She was going to call me! She invited me to a party with her!"

"At Roderich Eidelstein's house," Francis pointed out.

"Yeah!"

Francis raised a brow. "Well? That doesn't really mean that you're going with her, you know."

"I know that, Francis. But that's not that point. That's not the point at all."

"_Oui_, so the point is?"

"The point, Francis, is, uh…" Gilbert leaned against the wall and smiled dreamily. "She was thinking about me. I've only met her once, and already, she's thinking about me. Damn it. It's seriously going to happen, guys. I can feel it. She is going to be mine! _Carpe_!_ Carpe_!"

Gilbert flipped his scarf dramatically around his neck as he walked away and climbed the stairs leading to his room, leaving behind some genuinely happy spectators.

* * *

"Hamlet is said to be Shakespeare's greatest play yet," Katyusha Dolinski, the director of Shakesfest and Ivan's older sister, was standing in the front of the room, copies of Hamlet in hand. She spoke with a refined tone, and was the kind of person who was gentle but firm in her commands. "It is a tale of revenge, but what makes it most unique is Hamlet's indecisiveness, the complexity of taking action, the thoughts it has about death, and the view of the nation as a person that needs constant care."

She handed out copies of the scripts to the actors in the room, who were seated in a circle like she was King Arthur and they were the Knights of the Round Table. The mix of students and teachers from both AC and Welton was a rather interesting sight, but it was certainly needed for the sake of the Festival's tenth year anniversary.

"Now," she continued as everyone got their copies of the script. "It is very important that since we will be together for the next five months, we need to get to know each other and be like a family. Thus, we shall have a little ice breaker! Lukas over here will start, and we shall go clockwise. Alfred will be the last to speak. Simply state your name, role, and the reason why you joined Shakesfest this year. Lukas, the floor is yours."

Alfred couldn't listen to Lukas speak, because he still didn't have a real reason as to why he joined Shakesfest in the first place. Why did he join anyway?

_Alfred burst into the room laughing. Arthur quickly turned his notebook over as the American sat down at his bed and shoved a bunch of papers in his face._

"_I found it, Artie! I found it!" he said excitedly._

"My name is Lukas Bondevik, and I play as Fortinbras, the prince of Norway. I decided to try out for Shakesfest because Hamlet has always been one of my all-time favorite plays. It is a story of revenge unlike any other, and it tells a tale of human nature that simply cannot be paralleled. I am thankful for the opportunity to play as Fortinbras, because I rather admire the prince and am also Norwegian myself."

"_That's great!" Arthur said, and then looked confused. "Wait. What did you find?"_

"_What I wanna do right now," Alfred said. "What's really, really inside me."_

The next person to speak was a fellow student from Welton, a classmate of Alfred's. "Um, hi," he said shyly. "My name is Toris Laurinitis, and I play as Horatio, Hamlet's best friend. I chose to join Shakesfest because… I'm sorry. The reason is pretty shallow compared to Lukas'."

"No, it's quite alright, Toris," Katyusha assured. "What is it?"

The Lithuanian smiled softly. "I was a victim of peer pressure," he joked. "A friend of mine forced me to join."

_The Brit looked at the papers Alfred brought. They were posters of different people, but the word at the bottom was what they all had in common. "'Hamlet'?" he asked with a thick eyebrow raised._

"_This is it," Alfred declared._

The next few people flew by as a blur, with a bunch of teachers from both AC and Welton playing as the Ghost, Claudius, Polonius, and Gertrude. Alfred recalled that Antonio, a batch mate of his, was playing as Laertes, and a bunch of Nordics were playing as officers in the palace.

But even if he'd thought about it countless of times, he still couldn't find the reason he joined.

The next one to speak was the girl seated next to him, an Asian student from AC. She stood up and introduced herself. "Hi!" she greeted cheerfully. "My name is Maria Clara, and I play as Ophelia. The reason I joined Shakesfest is because…" She suddenly stopped and looked away from all her fellow actors.

"Because…?" Katyusha prompted kindly.

"Because Shakesfest saved my life," Maria said quietly. "I moved here because things started getting bad in the Philippines with all of the Communist insurgencies and the president's slightly recent declaration of Martial Law. I was a little bit suicidal in first year because I'd missed most of my friends back in the Philippines, but when Shakesfest came around at the time in a way, I was able to get out of my depression. I didn't join in second year since my grades fell a little, but I'm here now, and I guess that's what matters."

Maria sat down and Katyusha clapped slowly. "Thank you so much for sharing that, Maria. We're also really glad that you're part of the family now." The director turned to Alfred. "Your turn, Alfred."

Alfred stood up a bit unwillingly. "Hi, I'm Alfred F. Jones. I play as Hamlet, and the reason I joined Shakesfest is because…"

"_I'm gonna act!" he declared. "Yes, yes! I'll be an actor! Ever since I could remember, I've wanted to try this. I even auditioned for a play when I was ten, but I couldn't go since my mom died and my dad made me study to become a doctor… I became convinced of it even more when you said all those nice things about my reading of 'Ulysses'. For the first time in forever, Artie, I know what I wanna do!"_

Why did he join Shakesfest? If Arthur were here, the Brit would tell him to say the same words he used in stating his reason to join. But those words weren't enough. Why was he doing this when he knew for a fact that his father already said no? Why was he giving up almost everything for that one chance at happiness? Almost everything is much too high a cost, be it a chance at happiness or anything else. In the end, it's a 50/50 thing, a feeble thing, a thing where the results are still unclear. It's a thing that is still beyond his control even if he gave up everything.

And yet, he was willing to take up that chance.

The words became more obvious then.

"The reason is…?" Katyusha asked once more.

He could just turn away now, and maybe everything would be easier. He wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of hiding behind a smile. But the reason he stayed was before him, written in the faces of all the actors around him. He wanted more than anything to act, and this opportunity to present himself on stage was worth a lifetime of lies.

Alfred swallowed and smiled. "I joined Shakesfest because I want to be free."

* * *

Alcmene Karpusi was in the music room after school when a student knocked on the door.

She was having a cup of coffee when he came because even if a white Christmas definitely wasn't coming this year, it was as cold as the 9th Circle of Dante's Hell even if the heaters were on full blast in the school. The knock had snapped her away from the Geometry quizzes that needed to be checked, and she opened the door with a pissed expression that softened upon the sight of Arthur Kirkland.

There was very little Mrs. Karpusi could say about the Brit. She knew that he was one of the best students in his batch when it came to Geometry, but he rarely recited in class and always had his face hidden behind his books. Arthur was also one of the best behaved students in the dorm, but she never really knew what he was actually like...

"Hello, Arthur," she greeted. "What brings you here?"

"You're also a music teacher, Mrs. Karpusi?" He asked, tensing a little bit at the sight of the teacher.

"Oh no," Alcmene laughed. "I'm tone deaf. I can't be a music teacher. Ms. Miranda is absent though, which is why I was assigned to take care of this room. Did you need something?"

"Err, I was going to ask if I could borrow the piano," Arthur said. "I'm going to use it to compose a song."

"Really? That's very interesting. I didn't know you were a composer!" _Then again, there's very little I know about the kid! _The teacher thought.

"I'm not," Arthur denied. "This is actually the second song I wrote, but then I never actually finished writing the first one yet..."

"Well, as long as you have an original piece, you're a composer. May I see what you wrote?" Arthur tensed again, and Alcmene rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Mr. Kirkland. I won't bite. I may be as scary as hell sometimes when you guys don't obey the dorm rules or submit your homework late, but I don't bite!"

Arthur looked down. "I'm sorry. I don't want anyone to see it right now. It's a present for someone."

Alcmene smiled mischievously and narrowed her eyes. "Hm? Is it for a certain, special someone, Mr. Kirkland? Any lady in mind?"

The Brit blushed, his face blooming into fifty shades of red. "N-no," he lied. Then he sighed. "Well, yeah. It's for a really good friend of mine."

"Okay." Alcmene thought about her schedule and came up with an agreement. "The music room is closed on Wednesdays and Fridays, so the best time for you to come would be on Tuesdays and Thursdays. How does that sound? Will it be enough for you to finish your song?"

"That's more than enough!" Arthur said. "Great timing too, since Alfred's practices are—" His eyes widened, realizing what he let slip. "N-no, I mean—!"

"Oh, so Alfred's the special one?" Alcmene asked. "That's so sweet! He's such a lucky guy to have a friend like you!"

"T-thanks," Arthur stammered awkwardly.

"So, to make it short, you can use the music room during Tuesdays and Thursdays until the Christmas break, or at least until Ms. Miranda comes back," Alcmene stated. "I'm really glad that you're actually not that shy person that I thought you were, you know? It's good to see you take the initiative to do something. Does it have anything to do with Alfred?"

"Sort of. Mr. Vargas may have had something to do with it too, methinks." Arthur shrugged. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Karpusi."

"No problem, Arthur." She smiled and took her things. "I'll leave you on your own now. Don't break anything!"

"I won't. Thank you." He entered the music room and took his place at the piano.

Mrs. Karpusi left the music room satisfied. She sipped her coffee as she returned to the faculty room, but sadly it had already gone cold.

* * *

_A/N: I have returned from my trip out of the country and discovered that the rainy season is upon us here in the Philippines. The heat wave has ended, alas! The Lord has been kind to us all!_

_I'm also sorry for the lack of action in this chapter. I feel that nobody deserves this, given the long time I took to update. The story might pick up a little in the next few chapters, maybe. So, have some bloopers to make up for the lack of updates in the past weeks! :)_

Blooper 1: That weekend brought another meeting of the Dead Poets at the old Indian cave. Yao, Francis, and Gilbert were all smoking on their pipes while Kiku and Ivan unwillingly became a victim of second-hand smoking.

"Attaboy, Yao," Francis insisted. "Deep breathely."

Blooper 2: Alfred swallowed and smiled. "I joined Shakesfest because…" And at that moment he burst into song, channeling his inner Freddie Mercury. "I want to break FREE! I want to break free from your lies! You're so self satisfied, I don't need you! I've got to break free. God knows, GOD KNOWS I WANT TO BREAK FREE!"

A wall broke nearby and Arthur burst in, summoning his inner Brian May as he played an electric guitar.

Blooper 3: Alfred swallowed and smiled. "I joined Shakesfest because I want to be free, like the anime."

"Alfred, we're supposed to be in the 70s," Maria said flatly. "The only animes that exist as of now I think are Voltes V and Mazinger Z."

"What's Voltes V?" Alfred asked innocently, and everyone else in the room could only gasp.

Blooper 4: Alfred swallowed and smiled. "I joined Shakesfest because..." He stood up on his chair and began singing in his best imitation of Arianna Grande. "This is the part where I break free, CUZ' I CAN'T RESIST IT NO MORE!"

_I have a lot more bloopers for that one line of Alfred's, but it would make this A/N too long. :3_

_Special shout-outs this chapter go to Noire Knightmare, Nolesr1, and WinterSpirit13! I'm glad that all of you liked the fact that I included Jishou Mushoku._

_Please leave a review on the way out. Thank you and have a nice day!_


	12. Rules are Made to Break

_While you romp, I must be_

_Cornered with philosophy._

_I grow gray by making rules;_

_He keeps young who ridicules._

-Benjamin Musser, _Rules are Made to Break_

* * *

It all began with a phone call.

Just like every other year, the festive Christmas season could be felt with all the decorations being put up in the hallways, the excitement for the class Christmas party this Friday, and all the Christmas plans being whispered but still heard. On days when it was too cold outside and the other boys were as quiet as firecrackers on New Years' Eve, Arthur stayed in the comforts of the dorm to continue writing the lyrics to "Colorless Self-Injury". A few more stanzas maybe, toss in a bunch of two-liners, and then…

…listen to the sharp knock coming from the door.

Arthur rose from his bed, irritated. Who could be at the door? It was a Tuesday and it wasn't six yet, so Alfred was still at AC. And sure, even if Arthur was getting _a little bit_ more comfortable with the other members of the Dead Poets (the only one he was actually comfortable with being Kiku), he still wasn't exactly close with them…

The one who knocked was Mrs. Karpusi, looking far from pleased. Must've been the cold weather.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Karpusi," Arthur said, trying to be civil even when he was upset. "What bring you here on this lovely afternoon?"

"There's no need to be chummy with me, Mr. Kirkland," she said flatly, making Arthur wonder what happened to the lady who'd opened the door to the music room. "Someone's calling for you on the telephone."

"Okay. I'll go answer it. Thank you, Mrs. Karpusi."

The teacher shrugged and left. Arthur put on his coat, because even if the heaters were on full blast it was still as cold as the 9th Circle of Dante's Hell. He went to the dorm's reception desk and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Arthur."

The Brit froze at once. He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"…Mother?"

* * *

"I don't want to go back to London…" Arthur muttered, leaning on the bridge with his arms flowing freely down the railing. On any day earlier in the school year, he would've taken any opportunity to go back to his beloved homeland. But now that he was beginning to enjoy life more in Welton thanks to Alfred and the Dead Poets, going back to London at a time like this would be the worst thing ever. It meant the following: 1) seeing his beloved brothers (the only actually beloved one being Dylan, of course), 2) being nagged to by his parents about school and such, and 3) being forced to see relatives he didn't want to see. But those three points only scratched the surface of how terrible the whole thing was.

"Arthur…?"

Arthur looked up, surprised. The one who had called his name was none other than his American roommate, Alfred F. Jones. The bespectacled blonde was holding the handle bars of his bike near to him, and he stared at the Brit with eyes widened behind the rims of his glasses. Arthur smiled sarcastically. "Hey."

Alfred waved awkwardly. "Hey. What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Arthur said immediately, then looked down to the river that flowed beneath the bridge. "Well, I'm going back to London today, actually."

Alfred looked genuinely shocked. "Huh? Why? If you're going back to London today, doesn't that mean—?"

"I won't go to the Christmas party tomorrow? Yes, actually," Arthur finished. Well, he didn't really care if he missed the party since he hated parties, but he was worried about the fact that his song wasn't finished yet and he had to go home so soon. "My parents called last Tuesday and told me that we're having a family reunion or something like that next week. We have to leave for London today to make it. They already informed the teachers and such, so I was excused from class today to pack my things." Arthur looked to Alfred and narrowed his eyes. "Anyways, what brings you here? Shouldn't you be helping the others decorate the school?"

"I am, actually," Alfred defended. "I was sent to the town to go buy more art materials, just so you know."

Arthur scoffed. There was a bookstore in the campus. Alfred could've just gone there. "That's a lie, isn't it?"

Alfred grinned. "Yeah. The truth is I actually came here looking for you. Did I give you your Christmas present yet?"

"No, and it's fine if you don't give me anything, you know." _Because at the rate I'm going anyway, I won't be able to give you _your_ Christmas present… _Arthur thought sadly.

"I was planning on giving it tomorrow, but I don't mind giving it today," Alfred continued.

Okay, Arthur had to admit he was _a little _curious as to what the present was. "Uh, thanks. That's really nice of you."

"Part 1: Drag Arthur into watching the Godfather Part II with me at the theater in town! I was going to ask you to come with me after the party tomorrow, but since you're leaving today, I took the measures necessary to be able to watch. Thus, Kiku and Francis helped me skip class!"

"What?!" The Brit raised a brow, all traces of excitement fading into worry. "Won't you get in trouble? Won't the teachers notice that you're missing? Of course they'll notice you're missing. You're so noisy that everyone already notices it when you're missing! Has your brain become so full of junk food that you can't even think strai—?!"

"Arthur," Alfred cut him off. "A little rebellion is good. Healthy, even. Besides, desperate situations call for desperate measures, right?"

"Uh-huh. And do you know what's going to happen to the both of us if we get caught?"

"Um… Demerits?"

"Exactly, Mr. Jones! So why exactly do you insist so badly that I go with you to watch the Godfather?"

Alfred paused, (supposedly) thinking about Arthur's question. The American grinned. "I just like hanging out with you, okay? Does there have to be any other reason?"

Arthur wondered for a moment if it would be good to ignore the American, and just continue reading_ Pride and Prejudice _while curled up in the dorm. The Brit was thinking of doing just that, but he dared himself to look at Alfred's face. The American was wearing the begging puppy look, and Arthur was regretting looking at Alfred because he now felt that he was being wrapped around the American's finger…

"Fine," Arthur said finally. "But you'll be on your own if you get in trouble."

"Yes! Thank you! You won't regret it!"

_Hell yeah, I sure will, _Arthur thought.

Alfred climbed on his bike and grinned. "Here, sit on the carrier."

Arthur hesitated for a moment, because he felt like he was on a roller coaster of emotions and he was pretty sure that if he sat behind Alfred he would end up screaming "Wee~!" like he was going down a huge drop. But he swallowed it back and sat on the carrier.

"Hold on tightly, okay?" Alfred asked.

"O-okay." Obeying would be easy if only Arthur's hands weren't trembling so much as he tried desperately to put them on Alfred's shoulders.

Alfred looked back and rolled his eyes. "That's not good enough, Artie! Hold on tightly, because you falling off this bike would totally ruin my image of being a hero!"

"Is that seriously all that you care about?!"

The American stuck his tongue out. "Not really. Just don't want you getting hurt." He took the Brit's hands and set them down on his shoulders. Arthur could feel his face flaring up, but he tried to ignore it to the best of his abilities because even if Alfred was wearing how many layers of clothing due to the cold, Arthur could still feel the American's firm shoulders under his grip.

"There you go. Now keep it like that, because things are gonna go downhill from here!"

"What?"

And Arthur could only scream as Alfred rode his bike down the bridge and straight into the flock of birds that stood in the middle of the road.

* * *

Alfred insisted that he pay for the movie tickets and the popcorn, even though Arthur had enough money to pay for his own tickets and his own food. ("This is my Christmas present, okay? I don't want you to pay for anything," the American insisted.) The theater in the town resembled a Broadway theater in the fifties, with the shiny marquees and bright, red curtains. Not many people were inside the theater since it was a week day, so the pair got seats in the middle. It was also quite warm inside, so Arthur took off his jacket and folded it neatly on his lap. After a few more movie trailers, the film that they'd been waiting for finally started.

Most of the movie flew by in a bit of a blur with scenes of the current Godfather Michael Corleone's problems playing alongside his father Vito Corleone's introduction to the world of crime in New York's Hell's Kitchen. After Vito killed Don Fanucci during the neighborhood fiesta, he returned to his family and repeated words of love to his youngest son, and the scene faded, replaced by the word "Intermission" written in white across the black movie screen and an announcement that the said intermission would be ten minutes long.

Arthur rose and excused himself from Alfred's presence. The Brit needed to take a walk since his legs were killing him, being stuck in a sitting position for, what? Two hours? The American didn't mind, so Arthur took his leave.

It was a little bit cold when Arthur stepped outside, but it was the kind of cold that was manageable with a scarf and a jacket. He took a short walk around the block, amused by the all the clothes stores and cafes nearby. There was even a cute store full of stuffed toys. Arthur was tempted for a moment to go check it out, but then he thought of what Alfred might think if he saw him in there and thought against it.

Arthur only had two minutes left until the movie would continue and rushed back to the theater, but stopped when something a vendor was selling nearby caught his attention…

"How much for those two?" Arthur asked, pulling out his wallet in a rush. He could probably give one to Alfred as a temporary Christmas present, since the real one was still in the works…

"Five dollars," the vendor replied.

"That's too expensive! But I'm in a hurry anyway, so here." Arthur handed the money and got his change. He stuffed the things into his pocket and immediately ran back to the theater just in time to see the bright word on the screen disappear into the movie.

* * *

"So, what did you think about the movie?" Alfred asked after they left the theater. The two of them were heading to the place that the American labeled as Part 2 of Arthur's Christmas present, and Arthur couldn't help but wonder if it was the weather that was making him warmer, or the fact that he was hanging out with Alfred that made the winter seem less cold.

The Brit shrugged. "I liked Part I better, but Part II was still pretty good. The way killings were done in the first movie were way more interesting, but the revenge angle in the killings here were still pretty cool. It's rather unfortunate that Michael had to kill Fredo, though. Imagine having to kill your own brother. It's like trying to save your family so badly, but ending up losing them in the process. That's pretty tragic, huh?"

Alfred smiled. "I knew that you liked thinking deeply into things, Artie, but even when it comes to movies you still need to add philosophical stuff!"

"And why not?" Arthur replied casually, looking up to the sky as he walked. "Everything we go through in life has lessons behind them. Some are given straight, like how we spend every precious day of our lives going to school to learn things we might not even use in the future. Some are learned over time, like how it takes kids a while before they can fully understand how to ride a bike without training wheels. Either way, there will always be something to learn as long as you're willing to look for it."

A silence followed that lasted for a few seconds. Arthur stopped and looked to Alfred, who was frozen in place and staring straight at him. The Brit raised a brow. "What is it?" he asked.

"I like it when you go on philosophical mode," Alfred said lightly. "I'd let you talk more, but we've reached our destination!" He leaned his bike against a nearby tree and pointed ahead. "Part 2: Drag Arthur into visiting the riverbank with me!"

The Brit couldn't help but gasp at the view. The curtain of clouds parted to reveal the sun shining behind the clouds, and the rays immediately hit the river below, making it shine like the stars at night. The grass was still intact despite the cold, and ice droplets dangled from the blades near the river, looking like glitter on the ground.

"Like it?" Alfred asked.

"Yeah, it's very beautiful," Arthur muttered. Then he spotted with the help of his peripheral vision a small soccer goal nearby, a few meters away from the base of a bridge. "What's that goal doing over there?"

"Oh, that? Francis, Gilbert, Ivan and I used to play here a lot when we were little. I'm surprised it's still around, considering that I haven't visited this place in a while."

"Is that a soccer ball over there?" Arthur approached the goal and true enough a ball lay nearby, its black and white spots marked with dirt. "Shall we play a bit?" He grinned mischievously.

Alfred raised a brow. "Are you sure? In this cold?"

"There's a reason Mr. Diocletian made me join soccer, Jones. I may not look like it since I prefer the company of books, but I can shoot a goal or two."

"Okay, if you say so."

Arthur indeed proved himself as a formidable soccer opponent, managing to score a few goals despite all of Alfred's efforts to block the goal. The game ended after a while when Alfred tripped and accidentally lost the ball to the river. The two boys sat around a meter away from the water, tired but glad.

"Ha! That was a good game," Alfred declared, taking the water bottle from his bike. "I'm so tired! Let's go get something to eat!"

"Err, Alfred?" Arthur asked and pulled out the American flag sticker from his pocket. "Here, this is for you."

The American had a spit-take and frowned. "You're giving this to me? Jeez, Artie, I know I'm patriotic to the point that I would yell 'I'm American!' from the rooftops as I deep-fry my freedom, but I'm not that patriotic!"

Arthur felt a sting in his chest. "You don't like it? Well, I understand. I was supposed to give you something else, but then something happened and—"

Alfred blushed. "N-no, don't take it the wrong way! I think it's really cute. Thank you, Artie."

Arthur felt himself smile in relief. "You're welcome." _I bought one with the Union Jack, so it's matching. But I'm never going to show it to him, of course. _

"Aren't you gonna eat anything? It's lunch time, after all."

The Brit shook his head. "No, I'm good. I'm not hungry."

And that's when Arthur's body contradicted his statement and rumbled loudly.

Alfred chuckled. "Shall we go buy something in town?"

The Brit's face turned red. "Yes, please."

* * *

"What are your plans?"

Alfred looked up, probably not expecting Arthur to call him out. The American was lying down, back against the grass and coat being used like a blanket, while the Brit was seated. He continued staring at the sky, looking somewhat uncertain. "Didn't I tell you all of my plans? Audition for the play, get a part, act until May comes…"

"No, no, I didn't mean your acting plans," Arthur said. "I meant your _real _plans. Your goals, your dreams, your aspirations..."

"Hmm…" Alfred pondered for a moment, then answered. "I aspire to become a stronger person, I guess. I… Well, when I was younger I kept insisting that mom take a break because she was working too hard, but in the end… When I'm asked to speak my mind, I don't want to because I fear rejection. Even now, I want to be strong. I want to stand up for myself and for what I believe. I want to be strong enough to say 'no' when needed, and I want to be strong for those times when I do say 'yes'." The American tilted his head. "Does that count as an answer?"

"Of course! It's a really good answer, in fact."

"Really? Then let me point that question back at you. What are your plans and aspirations?"

"Well…" It didn't take as long for Arthur to ponder what he wanted to be. "I want to be someone who's good with words."

"What do you mean? You're really good with words, Artie. The poems you write are amazing!"

"Thanks for the compliment, but that's not what I mean," Arthur said and looked up to the sky as well. "I can spell out my thoughts on paper, but I can't say the right thing when the situation calls for it… In a way, I want to be a strong person as well. I want to be able to speak my mind when I feel that someone's being unreasonable. I want to say what I want to say when I need to say it. I don't want to be confined to putting words on a notebook page. I want to be able to _say something_. How does that sound?"

"That's a good answer too," Alfred said, giving a soft smile. "I'm sure you'll be able to achieve that one day. But if it doesn't happen, I'll still support you like the hero I am!"

"Shut up!" Arthur pouted while the bespectacled blonde laughed. But the Brit returned the smile afterwards. "You can do it as long as you believe, Alfred." Arthur stood up, walked near to the edge of the water, and grinned back at the American. "I'll cheer for you with all I've got until you make it, and when you do, I'll be the first to congratulate you!"

Alfred stared at Arthur blankly for a few seconds, but his expression immediately changed into a bright smile. "Thank you, Arthur."

"You're welco—!"

Arthur slipped and fell into the water. The river wasn't very deep, but it was as cold as the 9th Circle of Hell since it was winter. His clothes were soaked, and it got worse the moment a gust of wind flew by.

Alfred waded past the rocks at the edge of the riverbank and looked down at the Brit, holding back some evident laughs. "How lame!" chided the American. "And you were so cool for a moment, too!"

Arthur could feel heat rush to his face. "Sh-shut up, idiot~!"

Alfred stretched out his hand for Arthur to take. "You'll catch a cold if you don't stand up, and you getting sick because I brought you here would totally ruin my image of being a hero!"

"Is that seriously all you care about?!"

The American stuck his tongue out. "Not really. Just don't want you getting hurt."

* * *

_A/N: Very little plot development, but a very huge effort at USUK development! This chapter was a bit of a challenge for me since this didn't happen to the characters in the movie. And writing philosophical bullshit and character development and plot? Easy enough. Writing developing romantic relationships and fluff? As hard as fuck._

_I actually had a whole other scene to include where Alfred falls asleep and Arthur's like, "OMG, he so kawaii~!" but I became lazy and I'm starting to have less time to write since school is going to start for me soon. Hopefully I'll be able to come up with an update by next week. :)_

_Have some bloopers! There's surprisingly a lot since this chapter has been in the works for a while..._

Blooper 1: "Part 1: Drag Arthur into watching the Godfather Part II with me at the theatre in town! I was going to ask you to come with me after the party tomorrow, but since you're leaving today, I took the measures necessary to be able to watch. Thus, Kiku and Francis helped me skip class!"

Arthur was about to say something in reply to Alfred, but a mental image appeared. Francis and Kiku were watching Alfred escape, whispering to each other.

"One step closer to making USUK canon…" Kiku said and proceeded to laugh evilly with Francis. "First bring out the fluff. Yes, excellent! Now sit back and watch as the R-18 material forms…"

Arthur shivered, because he will never be able to look at the Asian the same way ever again.

Blooper 2: Alfred climbed on his bike and grinned. "Here, sit on the carrier."

Arthur hesitated for a moment, because "there is no way I will sit over there behind Alfred even if all the USUK fangirls in the world paid me to". But he could feel the glares from the said fangirl audience reading this somewhere out there, and they were enough to silence him and get on.

Blooper 3: A silence followed that lasted for a few seconds. Arthur stopped and looked to Alfred, who was frozen in place and staring straight at him. The Brit raised a brow. "What is it?" he asked.

"Now that I'm seeing you this close, you sure have strange eyebrows," Alfred deadpanned. "Were you cursed or something? They're like, three lines for one eyebrow…" Alfred crept closer. "No, make that four lines for one eyebrow…"

"STOP MAKING FUN OF MY EYEBROWS, YOU GIT!"

Blooper 4: "What is it?" he asked.

"It's just… For the first time, I feel… wicked," Arthur whispered.

"Where did _that_ come from?"

"I don't know. It's supposed to be a reference that the fangirls reading this might understand."

"Huh."

Blooper 5: The Brit couldn't help but gasp at the view. The curtain of clouds parted to reveal the sun shining behind the clouds, and the rays immediately hit the river below, making it shine like DIAMONDS IN THE SKY. (shining bright like diamonds, shining bright like diamonds, shining bright like diamonds, BEAUTIFUL LIKE DIAMONDS IN THE SKY)

Blooper 6: "Didn't I tell you all of my plans? Audition for the play, get a part, act until May comes…"

"No, no, I didn't mean your acting plans," Arthur said. "I meant your _real _plans. Your dreams, your aspirations, your weird fetishes."

"Weird fetishes? Where did _that_ come from?"

"I don't know. It's supposed to be another reference that the fangirls reading this might understand."

"Huh."

Blooper 7: The American stuck his tongue out. "Not really. Just don't want you getting hurt."

Arthur raised a brow. "Didn't we have a conversation like this earlier?"

"Yeah. Funny how things keep on repeating if you're living in a fanfiction."

_Special shout-outs go to Noire Knightmare and FireFox Vixen! Thank you so much for your support through reviews!_

_Thanks for reading, dears, and please leave a review once again! Have a nice day~!_


	13. Sympathy

_It is not a carol of joy or glee,_

_But a prayer that he send from his heart's deep core,_

_But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—_

_I know why the caged bird sings!_

-Paul Laurence Dunbar, _Sympathy_

* * *

Roderich's house was as crowded as hell when Gilbert arrived. It didn't look like the place he was forced to visit back in September due to the bottles of beer under the party goers' feet, the tissue rolls that ruined the furniture, and the noise of the rock music that played on. (The song that was currently playing was Darrel Bank's _Open the Door to Your Heart_.) How that even happened was beyond Gilbert, since Roderich was one of the shyest students he knew.

But he didn't want to think of the Austrian, because he only came here for a certain Hungarian.

Gilbert looked around anxiously, ignoring his surroundings for a few moments. It might have been an average, high school party. But it wasn't for him. This party was the opportunity Gilbert needed to take just so that he could get to know Elizaveta better. He wanted to get to know her even if it may turn out she's not as perfect as he thought she was.

"Hello? Elizaveta?" Gilbert called out. He stopped and combed his slightly messy hair in the hallway mirror. Elizaveta then popped out from one of the rooms in the house, catching Gilbert off-guard. He was tempted for a moment to turn around and just run back to Welton, but this was the one thing he had been waiting for ever since he met the girl.

"Gilbert!" she beamed with the most beautiful smile on her face. "You made it! Great! Did you bring anybody else with you?"

"No, I didn't." And now Gilbert was beginning to regret coming alone. Where were his friends when he needed them, goddamn it?

"Hm. Well, Maria's here, just so you know. She's probably curled up in the corner crying her eyes out over _Noli Me Tangere_ again. That girl hates socializing as much as I hate Vladimir!" Elizaveta stepped to the side. "Anyways, I need to go find Roderich. He needs to socialize more, you know? Just stay in the living room. That's where everybody is. Well, see ya!" And she ran up the stairs to find the Austrian, leaving Gilbert alone again.

* * *

Gilbert felt himself suffocating not only because of the cigarette smoke, but also because of the loud rock music blaring in his ears, the couples littered around the room making-out, and the fact that Roderich and Elizaveta were together on the dance floor, leaving Gilbert to wander and find a place of comfort by himself.

That place of comfort just so happened to be the kitchen, even if it just so happened to be filled with more drunk students.

The doorframe leading to the kitchen had a bunch of pen and pencil marks scratched on it, keeping track of how tall Roderich had grown in the past years. The Prussian rushed to the corner to get a glass of cold beer to calm his nerves.

"Hey, are you Ernst's brother?" a voice called out with a light Romanian accent. Gilbert turned and saw two boys standing behind him, staring in awe (or was it recognition?). The boy who spoke had strawberry blonde hair and teeth like a vampire. He turned to his friend, who seemed like the more quiet type judging by appearance. Both held plastic cups, presumably filled with beer. "Milen, doesn't he look like Ernst's brother or what?" The Romanian asked, slurring his words.

Milen looked interested. "You're his brother?" he asked with a light Bulgarian accent. Gilbert could tell that he wasn't as drunk as his Romanian companion, but was still drunk nonetheless.

"No relation," Gilbert corrected. "I've never heard of him. Sorry."

Milen didn't hear it. He turned to his friend. "Where are your manners, Vladimir? Ernst's brother is here, and we don't even offer him a drink!" The Bulgarian took away Gilbert's cup (NO!) and replaced it with a plastic cup full of whiskey. "Here. Have some whiskey, pal."

"Yeah!" Vladimir agreed, raising his cup. Milen handed the other cup to Gilbert.

"N-no thanks. I prefer beer—" The Prussian attempted to get his beer back, but Vladimir wouldn't let him.

"To Ernst," said Vladimir, raising his glass higher.

"To Ernst!" Milen repeated, raising his glass as well.

Gilbert stared at them in shock, but shrugged. He needed the alcohol to chase his pain away. "To Ernst." They all took a big drink of the whiskey. The flavor was too much for Gilbert to handle, but all he could do was swallow the thing and try to breathe after.

"How the hell is old Ernst anyway?" Vladimir asked, smiling.

"What's Ernst been up to?" Milen asked.

"I've been trying to say that I don't know who—" Gilbert started again, but the pair wouldn't take it.

"To the mighty Ernst!" said Vladimir, raising his glass again.

"To the might Ernst!" said Milen, raising his glass too.

"To the might Ernst," Gilbert repeated, and they all downed the rest of their cups.

"Well, listen," said Vladimir once his cup was emptied. "I'm going to look for Roddie. Say hello to Ernst for me, okay?"

"Will do," said Gilbert, not bothering to correct the Romanian anymore.

Vladimir grinned (creepily, Gilbert added internally) and disappeared into the crowd of party goers.

Milen shook his head and smiled. "He was one hell of a guy, your brother Ernst."

* * *

"_Kuya _Gilbert? Is that you?"

Gilbert was sitting at the base of the stairs when Maria Clara called him, and he turned up to see the girl leaning down curiously. She held a book in her hands, presumably the one that Elizaveta mentioned earlier.

"Hey," Gilbert replied half-heartedly, trying to smile but failing.

Maria chuckled and sat next to the albino. "What brings you here? I've pegged you as the party-goer kind of guy, but I didn't think I would see you in back here at _kuya _Roderich's place. What's up?"

"Nothing really," said Gilbert. "Elizaveta invited me over, but left me alone to fend off her drunk classmates."

"Is that so?" The Filipina laughed suddenly. "I'm sure you know that Roderich and I choose to be anti-social for a good reason. He prefers the company of his instruments, and I'd rather cry my eyes out over a book. The reason we're having this party actually is because _ate_ Elizaveta insisted that we socialize more, and since Roderich's parents aren't around _ate_ Elizaveta invited everyone over."

"Huh," Gilbert said. As much as he wanted to be as nice to Maria, he was currently feeling a little bit off. He picked up his cup of beer and took a sip.

Maria tilted her head. "You don't look too good. Does it have something to do with Elizaveta?"

Gilbert stiffened. This girl was way smarter than she let on.

"Yeah, looks like it does." She smiled. "You can always talk to me about it. It's not good to stew on things and end up regretting later on."

The albino sighed. _Might as well._ "Elizaveta's the only reason I came here, actually. I wanted to get to know her better, but she's too occupied with Roderich at the moment, making it practically impossible."

"Hmm…" Maria said softly. "You know, _kuya _Gilbert, you're not being honest with yourself."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I may not know all the details, but you really want to talk to Elizaveta, and you've resolved to do so by coming here. Now that it's actually happening, you're scared to make a move, which is why Elizaveta keeps slipping out of your grasp and you end up blaming her for it."

"N-no," Gilbert stammered. "That's not—"

"That's exactly how it is, _kuya_ Gilbert!" Maria cut him off. "When you find her, do what you came for. Sometimes, even when you know what you want to do, there are times you'll lose the chance to do it. Now might be your only chance. So please, be the 'Awesome One' you truly are, and have courage!"

"Maria…"

The girl smirked. "Well, if you lose your chance I'll be right here to say 'I told you so!' over and over again in the most annoying way possible. Good luck!" And she disappeared into one of the rooms upstairs.

"Gosh darn…" Gilbert muttered aloud.

Maria Clara was one of the most annoying people he met in all his time on earth.

But maybe those words of encouragement were just what he needed.

* * *

The world was spinning round and round as Gilbert entered the living room, staggering. His vision was blurring because instead of heeding Maria's advice to look for Elizaveta, he head back to the kitchen and took _waaaaaaaaaaaaay_ more cups of beer than he had originally intended…

Talking to that gosh-darn girl was going to require guts, and _waaaaaaaaaaaaay_ more cups of beer than he had originally intended. Which was why Gilbert still held another plastic cup of beer in his hands even though the world was already spinning.

When the Prussian rubbed his eyes, he could see a little bit clearer and at once his peripheral vision went to work as he made his way to the couch. Roderich was stuck in a table, with Vladimir, Milen, and a bunch of other classmates of theirs chatting their hearts out. (The lucky bastard looked like he would rather be in the middle of nowhere than to be stuck there. Serves him right.) Gilbert had to step over several couples that were making-out on the floor to make it to the couch, but even half of the couch was occupied by another couple that seemed oblivious to his presence. The drunk girl kept on laughing and bumping into him. It was amusing at first, but it went plain annoying after a while. Maybe the damned couple wanted the whole couch to themselves…

He was about to get up and leave, but then he noticed a figure shift next to him. Gilbert looked down. It was none other than Elizaveta, sleeping soundly next to him on the couch. If Sleeping Beauty was real, she must've been the Hungarian's ancestor. Her long, brown locks formed a soft pillow beneath her head, and her breathing came out softly. It was only actually seeing her this up-close that Gilbert realized how long her eyelashes were…

"_Mein Gott,_" were the only words that could slip out of Gilbert's mouth. He looked about, then looked back down at the sleeping girl. He took a deep breath. "Carpe Diem." The Prussian took one last swig of his beer and tossed his cup to the side, not caring if it would hit someone. He ran his fingers over Elizaveta's light brown locks. It was soft under his touch, and smelled faintly of roses. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, and that short moment was enough to make him happy for life.

"Roddie~! Roddie~! Look it~!" cried Vladimir nearby, sounding more drunk than ever.

"What is it now, Vladimir?" replied the Austrian exasperatedly. "And I've told you how many times already, my name is not Roddie. It's Roderich! RO-DE-RICH!"

"Whatever!" The Romanian pointed straight at Gilbert, who stared at him in shock. "Look! It's Ernst's brother, and he's feeling up your girl!"

"You'd better not be joking, Vladimir."

"I mean it! LOOK!" The Romanian forced the Austrian to turn around, and at once Roderich's features contorted into a glare that would frighten Satan himself.

Elizaveta woke up at this point. Had Gilbert not been in his current situation, he would've admired her beauty for as long as he could. But she was glaring at him now, her brows furrowed and her cheeks flushed. "What are you doing, Gilbert?" she asked with a voice so low that it was almost inaudible.

…that cinched it. Gilbert was sooooooo screwed.

Roderich rose from his chair, looking at the albino sharply and for some odd reason grinning unpleasantly. "Yes, please explain to the innocent bystanders just what exactly you were doing. It's good to shed some light on this really dark situation, you know."

Gilbert rose as well, hands raised in surrender. "Okay, I know this looks bad, but you've got to—!" He staggered backward, breath driven from his lungs. His back thumped as he hit the cold, hard ground—Roderich had punched him in the stomach. Hard.

"Calm down?" Roderich asked coldly. "That's the thing: I've been too calm all of my life. Because of that, I've never been able to defend the things that mattered most to me. But that's going to change today, because from here on out, I'm going to fight back."

Anger coursed through Gilbert's veins as he stared at the Austrian. In a flash he saw an opening, how his fists were held too low, how his stance was too wide… Without thinking, he swung, and immediately hit Roderich in the face. But it was too late when a realization hit Gilbert: he shouldn't have hit back. Not because Roderich was stronger than him. The Prussian was aware that he was ten times stronger than the Austrian. It wasn't because Gilbert was afraid either; the reason was because Roderich wanted so much to fight, anything to make Gilbert appear as the villain in this whole situation.

It was a sickening scene straight out of the movies. Roderich's normally calm face was erased by an ugly mask of fury. He threw himself at Gilbert, hurling the both of them to the floor. The albino had decided, after being hit by the realization, that for now he would have to turn the other cheek. He cringed away, trying to hide his head and face behind his strong arms, but to no avail. Roderich began beating Gilbert with his fists. They didn't have enough power, but the flurries of rage were able to hit their marks. Despite Gilbert's physique being much better than the Austrian's, he made no effort at resistance, gave no cry for mercy or protest.

No one made an effort to interfere for fear of sharing the fate of the albino. The subject of the fight could only try desperately to tear the two apart. Her cries of "Stop!" and "No!" fell on deaf ears.

What made it most sickening was Gilbert's complete subjection, but it may have just saved his life. The blows rained on his head and neck like grenades until Elizaveta finally managed to pull Roderich off him. Gilbert thought that his head must be puffing up with air, but it was just dizziness settling in after. He attempted to sit up, but the smell of metal overtook his senses. He touched the base of his nose and at once he saw his own blood marking his fingertips.

Elizaveta kneeled next to Gilbert with a worried look painted all over her beautiful face. The lamplight glowed behind her as Gilbert's vision blurred, and Gilbert knew he was right. She definitely was an angel. She spoke with that same honey-like voice of hers. "Are you okay, Gilbert?"

Gilbert's consciousness was beginning to slip away, but he managed a smile. He wanted to tell her that he'd faced worse in life, anything to make that sadness in her features go away, but it only came out as muffled whispers.

Roderich's voice called behind her harshly, but to Gilbert it sounded just like the muted sounds of a radio with a weak signal. Elizaveta shushed her boyfriend and turned back to the Prussian. "I'm so sorry," she said, her voice choking a little. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't think this would happen…"

Gilbert smiled again and managed to reassure her, but her next words dealt him a final blow that hurt more than the throbbing at the back of his head.

"I think it might be best if we don't see each other again."

* * *

_A/N: School finally caught up with me, but I managed to update. _

_Some explanations for the sake of the readers: Roderich, in my opinion, is the kind of person who can be really tough when provoked, which is why here he's proving himself. Our Austrian friend here has a bit of a background: he was bullied a lot back in Austria, and it was like that as well when he transferred to Welton the same time Gilbert did. Gilbert, on the other hand, may seem like an idiot sometimes, but he can actually read well into situations and knows when to fight or when to give up. This whole chapter kind-of reminds me of the War on Austrian Succession for some odd reason. :3_

_Paul Laurence Dunbar again! I've only discovered his poems recently, but I really like them. I was originally gonna go with another Maya Angelou poem, but I saved it for the next chapter._

_Speaking of which, the next chapter will be updated waaaaaaaaaaaaaay earlier. I hope you guys are looking forward to that!_

_Special shout-outs to Kuro. Suu, Noire Knightmare, Dere KuroHaru, and The Tsundere Fangirl! Thank you so much for your reviews~!_

_Anyways, feel free to leave a review on the way out. Thank you all and have a wonderful day~!_


	14. Phenomenal Woman

_Pretty women wonder where my secret lies._

_I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size._

_But when I start to tell them,_

_They think I'm telling lies._

-Maya Angelou, _Phenomenal Woman_

* * *

The night of lights and merriment for so many children who observed the holidays in the warmth of their family's arms, the holy day which commemorated Earth's chance at being freed from the Original Sin, and the night in which all good Christian families rejoiced at the birth of their Savior passed by as a bore to Francis Bonnefoy. Well, everything was beginning to become a bore to the Frenchman. The fireworks display for New Years' was boring, the return to school was boring (When was it _not_ boring?), and even the meetings of the Dead Poets were beginning to become a bore, as much as he didn't want it to be that way.

On a day towards the end of January, Francis just _had _to question the meaning of his existence in the middle of one of the aforementioned meetings. As much as he loved Gilbert as a friend, the Frenchman was getting sick of all the constant declarations of how much the Prussian wanted to "suck all the marrow out of Elizaveta" and such.

"I've never really been alive, have I?" Francis asked his roommate Kiku, ignoring the frown that was ruining his _flawless_ features. "I mean, Alfred desires acting. Gilbert here desires Elizaveta. Even Arthur, although he tries to hide it, desires to write songs. He's been missing meetings recently to do just that. But what about me? I've got nothing! I'm not doing anything with my life!"

Kiku looked up from a comic book that he was reading from and smiled softly at the Frenchman. "Francis-san, you're a romantic. Romantics were passionate experimenters, dabbling in many things before settling, if ever. Feel free to experiment with what you want to do in life."

And just like that, Francis got an idea. "From now on, this cave will be the 'Francis Bonnefoy Cave for Passionate Experimentation', and in the future, everyone else will need permission to enter! CARPE CAVEM!"

* * *

"To live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life—" The boys in the cave were cut off, because the sound of laughter—_female _laughter in particular—caught them off guard. Yao, who was nearest to the entrance, saw the girls first and muttered a curse in his mother's tongue, because _what the hell were they doing here?_

The first girl to come in was probably a sixteen year old Seychellois with long, dark brown hair tied into pigtails using red ribbons. She buttoned up the rest of her white jacket over her blue dress and grinned at the sight of the Dead Poets. "Is this it?" she asked excitedly, a puff of mist escaping her lips as she spoke.

Francis could be heard outside. "_Oui_, we've reached our destination. Go ahead, go on in. Watch your step."

"Be careful, Michelle," called another girl's voice. "You might slip."

"I'll be fine!" Michelle hopped into the cave, followed by a slightly older Monacan girl whose blue eyes were framed by silver-rimmed glasses. She flipped her braid over her shoulder and stood next to Michelle, all while carrying a formal air.

The older girl bowed politely. "Good evening to you all."

"G-good evening," everyone replied awkwardly, the same question playing in their heads. _WHAT THE HELL WERE THEY DOING HERE?!_

Francis hopped in and stood in between the two girls, grinning like a mad man. "_Bonjour, mon ami!_ Meet Michelle"—to which, he motioned to the girl with the pigtails—"and Germaine!" —to which, he motioned to the girl with the braid. "I present to you two, the pledge class of the Dead Poets Society!"

"Hi," was the only word that could come out, because they still couldn't contain their shock. Seriously, **WHAT THE HELL WERE THEY DOING HERE?!**

"_Excusé moí__, mon amis. _'Tis Friday night, is it not? Let us begin the meeting!" Francis took center-cave and the two girls followed, looking slightly unsure about their surroundings. The two sat down (Michelle next to Kiku and Germaine next to Arthur) while Francis remained standing in the center, next to the god of the cave. "Friends, scholar, Welton men, I have an announcement to make! In keeping with the spirit of passionate experimentation of the Dead Poets, I'm giving up the name Francis Bonnefoy. From now on, my name is Nuwanda!"

Arthur raised a brow. "Nuwanda?" he scoffed.

Alfred laughed in disbelief. "Nuwanda?"

Germaine had taken out a tube of red lipstick while Francis made his announcement. The Frenchman then took it from her, and marked his cheeks with a letter N to represent his new name.

Ivan stood up, but again his head banged against the cave's ceiling. He bent over a little bit to prevent that from happening again. "Excuse me, ladies, but isn't it rather cold this evening? How about we gather some firewood for you now?"

Wait a minute, Ivan of all people should be the one most used to cold. Something was up.

"That would be great!" Michelle beamed. "Thank you very much, um…"

"Ivan," he finished. "Well? Shall we?"

Everyone stepped outside in silence, and the first one to speak was Arthur. "Hey, Frog-face—"

"It's Nuwanda, Eyebrows," Francis replied calmly.

"Okay, _Nuwanda_," Arthur spat. "What's going on here exactly?"

"Nothing, unless you object to having girls here."

"We don't object, Nuwanda," said Gilbert. "It's just that… you could've at least warned us earlier so that we could prepare. Having them catch me off-guard reduces my awesomeness."

Francis shrugged. "I thought I'd be spontaneous. I mean, that's the point of the whole thing, _oui_?"

"Where'd you find them?" asked Yao.

"They were walking along the fence past the soccer field," Francis explained. "They said they were curious about the school so I invited them to the meeting."

"Do they go to Assumption College?" asked Kiku.

"I don't know."

Ivan frowned. "They're from the town?"

"What's so wrong about it, Vanya?" Francis asked lightly, trying to diminish the tension by using Ivan's nickname. "You act like they're your younger sister or something. Is the gentle giant afraid of them?"

"I'm not afraid!" replied Ivan defensively. "I'm just saying, if we get caught with them, the teachers are going to kill us. It will be like the rule of Stalin all over again!"

Michelle's head popped out of the cave. "Hey, what's going on out there, you guys?" she called out.

"Just gathering some wood," Francis reassured to the two, then turned back to the Russian. "Don't say anything about it, and there's nothing to worry about. What the teachers don't know won't kill them," he whispered.

Ivan still looked unsure. "Really?"

"Oh calm down, Ivan," Alfred said half-heartedly.

The group went back into the cave and Germaine spoke up quietly, "Shall we proceed with the meeting henceforth or not?"

"Yeah! If you guys don't have a meeting, how do we know if we want to join?" Michelle asked cheerfully.

Alfred laughed in disbelief. "Join?"

Francis suddenly leaned over and smiled sweetly at Germaine. "'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate.'"

The Monacan returned the smile. "That is rather sweet of you."

"I made that up just for you," Francis lied, since those words belonged to Shakespeare. The boys in the cave laughed, but Arthur looked just about ready to stab the Frenchman 33 times.

"I'll make one for you as well, Michelle!" Francis said, turning to the twin-tailed girl. "'She walks in beauty like the night…'" He looked up to the cave's ceiling, trying to remember Lord Byron's words. "'She walks in beauty like the night. / Of cloudless climes and starry skies. / All that's best, dark and bright, / Meet in her aspect and her eyes.'"

Michelle gasped, cheeks pink. "That's beautiful!" she exclaimed.

"There's plenty more where that came from," Francis added mischievously.

"Okay, enough of that. We don't need any more of your cheesy poetry," Arthur said. He turned to Alfred. "Hey, Alfred, do you have Mr. Vargas' book with you? Let's read something from there."

"Uh, here." The American took it out of his bag and handed it to the Brit.

Arthur took it from him and flipped to a random page. "'The millions are awake for physical labor,'" he read. "'But only one in a million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion, only one in a hundred millions to a poetic or divine life. To be awake is to be alive.'"

Kiku took the book from Arthur and read something as well. "'If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.'"

Ivan took his turn. "'If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost. That is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.'"

Francis then opened a book of his own and began reading. "'Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul!'" After that, he exclaimed, "I here and now commit myself to daring!"

Germaine chuckled, took out a bottle of alcohol, and passed it to Arthur. "Go ahead, pass it around."

Arthur regarded the bottle for a moment, a slightly nostalgic look passing briefly through his eyes. He took a swig and passed to Gilbert, who took one as well. A moment of awkward silence settled a bit, broken eventually by Yao.

"Kiku and I are working on a hi-fi system together," he bragged. "It isn't that hard to, uh, put together, right, Kiku?"

The Jap nodded awkwardly. "_Hai. Eto_, I might be going to Yale. But, ah, then again, I, I might not."

Michelle tilted her head. "Don't you guys miss having girls around here?"

Kiku nodded slightly and Yao smiled a little. "Yeah."

"That's part of what this club is about, _oui_?" Francis mentioned. "About that, I have another announcement to make! I published an article in the school paper under the name of the Dead Poets!"

If Arthur had been drinking water, this would've been the moment where he had a spit take. "W-what?"

"_Oui_! I demanded that girls be admitted to Welton," Francis explained with the dumbest smile plastered onto his face.

Gilbert frowned. "Please tell me you're joking."

"H-how did you pull that off?" Alfred asked out of curiosity.

"I'm one of the proofreaders, remember?" The Frenchman made a gesture with his hand. "I slipped the article in."

Ivan covered his face with his hands and shook his head. "It's over for us now. It was nice knowing all of you. I hope that if we're reborn, we'll see each other again."

"What are you so worried about?" Francis raised a brow. "They don't know who we are."

"Don't you think they're going to figure out who wrote it?" Arthur asked, not masking his anger in any way. "They're going to come to you and ask what the Dead Poets Society is. Jesus, Beardy! You didn't have any right to do something like that!"

"It's Nuwanda, Arthur. How hard is it to get it through your thick eyebrows?" Francis asked with the same tone, his anger flaring up for a quick moment.

Germaine nodded. "True, he did say he would change his name to Nuwanda."

"Think about it, guys," Francis continued in a calmer manner. "Are we just playing around here, or do we mean what we say? All we do is come together and read a bunch of poems to each other. We're not really doing anything with our lives, you know?"

Alfred sighed. "I understand where you're coming from, Francis, but you still shouldn't have done it! This could mean trouble not only for you, but for us as well. All for one and one for all. You don't speak for the club without us knowing about it at least."

"Hey, calm all your non-existent tits! Minus Michelle and Germaine, of course," Francis added mischievously. "Could you guys please not worry your precious little necks? If they catch me, that won't be much of a problem. I'll just tell them I made it up!"

* * *

_So he said, _Arthur thought a few weeks later when all high school students were called to the church where the opening ceremony had taken place so many months before. Tension could be felt in the air that surrounded the students as all the professors hurried down the steps, led by an obviously agitated Mr. Diocletian. Several of them were carrying newspapers in their hands. The students rose upon their entrance as the protocol stated, and they only sat down after all the professors took their place up front.

Arthur looked to Alfred, who was seated next to him. The American's blue eyes were expressing worry, and for some odd reason the Brit could feel that somewhere deep down inside of him, he wanted to kill Francis for making Alfred look like that. But instead the Brit gave the American's hand a tight squeeze, assuring the both of them that everything would be okay even if the situation seemed just like a quagmire that Francis dragged the group into as he fell.

"In this month of Welton's Honor there appeared a profane and unauthorized article." The head master tried to carry a calm air as he spoke, but his eyes were wild with anger. "Rather than spend my valuable time ferreting out the guilty persons—and I assure you, I will find them—I'm asking any and all students who know anything about this article to make themselves known here and now. Whoever the guilty persons are, this is your only chance to avoid expulsion from this school."

A silence settled after, which Arthur hoped would end soon, whether by Francis confessing or someone in the group ratting the idiot out. It was broken eventually by the sound of a phone ringing nearby. The professors looked around for its source, but Francis, being the nearest, picked it up and immediately became the center of attention.

"Welton Academy, Nuwanda speaking. How may I help you?" The Frenchman spoke cheerfully. "Oh! _Oui, oui, _he is. Please wait for a moment while I connect your call." He stood up, holding the phone and a bell in his hands. "_Monsieur_ Diocletian, it's for you. It's God. He says we should have girls at Welton!"

Most of the students in the room laughed at Francis' joke, but the Dead Poets could only shake their heads in disbelief. Mr. Diocletian strode down the stage, red faced, and took Francis' wrist harshly.

"I will not be mocked, _Monsieur _Bonnefoy," the headmaster said with a low voice, but it was loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear.

* * *

_A/N: This is a pretty short chapter compared to the others that I've put up earlier. My minimum amount of words per chapter used to be 2,000, but I may have gone past that limit way more than I intended to (Such as with Chapter 12. I almost reached 4, 000 words!) But I think this chappy was still plot-developing nonetheless._

_GOSH DARN IT, FRANCIS BONNEFO—I MEAN, NUWANDA. __WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!_

_But Francis' not-so-intelligent deed aside, we got a really tiny USUK moment thrown in there. Everything is going according to plan~! *strokes pet dog awkwardly*_

_Another poem of Maya Angelou's makes an appearance! I just happened to see this poem on tumblr and I fell in love with it immediately. I HAD to look for a part in the movie where the poem could be applicable, and I hope that even if this story takes place in a testosterone filled society/sausage fest this poem was applicable enough for this chapter due to Michelle and Germaine being phenomenal women. :3_

_Special shout-out goes to Noire Knightmare! The effort you put to review every single chapter I write always puts a smile on my face, and also, Ariadne-sama, feel free to take time to update your fanfic. No matter what everyone pressures you to do, in the end, you must follow your own heart (even if the circumstances may be preventing you from taking action)~!_

_As always, feel free to leave a review on your way out. Thank you all and have a fantastic day~!_


	15. In Times of Trouble

_There's comfort just in knowing_

_that you are not alone_

_When tears are overflowing_

_and hearts are cold as stone._

-Clay Harrison, _In Times of Trouble_

* * *

Francis stood in Mr. Diocletian's office with his back turned to the door as the head master shut it menacingly. Although the Frenchman wore a smirk all over his face, his hands were clammy and he could feel his heart pounding in fear within him as the Emperor walked from the door to face him.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," Mr. Diocletian said, his voice betraying no sign of warmth. "If you think, _Monsieur _Bonnefoy, that you're the first to try to get thrown out of this school, think again. Others have had similar notions and have failed just as surely as you will fail." The headmaster picked up a wooden paddle that lay next to his desk and rolled back his sleeves slowly. "Assume the position, _Monsieur _Bonnefoy."

Francis could only sigh as he bent over, resting his hands on the desk and gripping for dear life as the now-familiar cold numbness settled in and Mr. Diocletian clapped the paddle in his hands.

"Count aloud."

Francis swallowed as slow as he could, because he knew that the next thing that would happen was inevitable. "One."

The paddle hit his thighs with a sound as loud as thunder, followed by the lightning striking the skin that lay under the one layer of clothing. The pain spread like a burning fire all over his legs, but Francis tried holding any screams of pain back since he knew no matter how much it hurt, he would never give Mr. Diocletian the satisfaction of being able to take away his spirit.

"Two." When the pain subsided, it came back once again, this time much worse than before.

"Three." Another hit._ You've faced worse than this, Francis._

"Four." _Never give in to those who try to drag you down._

"Five." The last hit was too much, and Francis could feel all the blood in his thighs rush to his knees. His vision was glazing over a little, but he knew that it wasn't over yet.

Mr. Diocletian finally spoke. "What is this Dead Poets Society? I want names."

* * *

Everyone waited outside of their rooms in anticipation for Francis' return. Tension could be felt once more as the seconds turned into minutes and the minutes turned into an hour, but eventually the Frenchman returned to the dorm. He went up the stairs stiffly and was first spotted by Feliks.

The crowd of boys parted just like the Red Sea, but the area remained drowned in silence. Alfred was able to swim away, and was the first to speak out of concern for the Frenchman.

"You kicked out?" the American asked quietly.

"No." Francis didn't face him when he answered. His fingers gripped the door post tightly.

"What happened?" Alfred pressed.

"I'm to turn everyone in, apologize to the school, and all will be forgiven," Francis replied quietly.

"So, what are you gonna do?" No reply. "Francis!"

"Damn it, Alfred!" Francis turned to the American, lively blue eyes now lined with tears. He gave a half-hearted smile. "The name's Nuwanda." The Frenchman shut the door on his friends, who were left feeling worse than before.

* * *

Romulus Vargas was in the small room next to the classroom after school when someone knocked on the door.

He was chatting with Helmut when that someone came because the Italian had become rather close to the German over the course of the school year, and the conversation may have been needed to release the tension over the events regarding Francis. The knock had interrupted their conversation, and he opened the door with a joyous expression that stiffened upon the sight of Mr. Aurelius Diocletian.

"Excuse me. May we have a word, Mr. Vargas?" The head master's face expressed the calm before the storm, and Romulus could feel the temperature surrounding them drop a little.

"Certainly," the teacher replied. He fixed his tie and followed Mr. Diocletian into the classroom.

The head master looked around the classroom, a slightly sentimental look written all over his normally strict features. "This was my first classroom, Romulus. Did you know that?" he said quietly. He pointed to the desk up front. "My first desk."

Romulus attempted a smile and prayed that it didn't look fake, because Mr. Diocletian in all honesty scared the piss out of him. "Didn't know that you taught, sir."

"Literature. Quite long before your time." He chuckled. "It was hard giving it up, I can tell you." When he faced Romulus, all traces of warmth suddenly disappeared. "I'm hearing rumors, Romulus, about some unorthodox teaching methods in your classroom. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying they've anything to do with Francis Bonnefoy's outburst. But I find it unnecessary to warn you that boys his age are very…" He paused to find the words. "…impressionable."

Romulus smiled. "Well, your reprimand made quite an impression, I'm sure."

Mr. Diocletian looked out of the window. "What was going on in the courtyard before Christmas break?" he asked.

The teacher raised a brow. "Courtyard?"

"Yes. Boys marching, clapping in unison…"

"Oh, that." Romulus grinned. "That was an exercise to prove a point. It represents the dangers of conformity."

Mr. Diocletian turned back to the teacher, face as cold as stone. "Well, Romulus, the curriculum here is set. It's proven it works. If you question, what's to prevent them from doing the same?"

Romulus frowned. "I always thought the idea of educating was to learn to think for yourself."

"At these boys' ages? Not on your life!" The head master scoffed. "Tradition, Romulus. Discipline. Prepare them for college, and the rest will take care of itself."

Romulus kept silent for a few moments, then nodded. "Okay. I understand where you're coming from."

Mr. Diocletian smiled. "Good." And he left the room without another word.

Helmut came out of the room and pat Romulus' shoulder. "I wouldn't worry about the boys being too conformist if I were you," he said lightly.

"Why is that?" Romulus asked while the other teacher handed him a cup of coffee.

"Well, you yourself graduated from these hallowed halls and vine-draped walls, did you not?"

Romulus didn't understand where Helmut was getting at. "So?"

Helmut smiled mischievously. "So if you want to raise a confirmed atheist, give him a rigid religious upbringing. Works every time."

* * *

"_Creak._"Francis hit the bongos once. "He started walking around towards my left. _Creak._" He narrated. He took a puff from his cigarette then hit his bongos twice, imitating Mr. Diocletian's steps. His classmates listened nearby with anticipation. "_Creak. _'Assume the position, _Monsieur_ Bonnefoy.'"

The Frenchman's tale was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Vargas, who was dressed rather casually. Most of the student got up from their seats, but Francis remained seated due to the pain in his legs.

Mr. Vargas smiled. "It's all right, gentlemen."

"Mr. Vargas!" Francis greeted, discreetly handing his cigarette to Toris.

The teacher went straight to the point. "You know, _Monsieur _Bonnefoy, that was a pretty lame stunt you pulled today."

Francis frowned in disbelief. "You're siding with Mr. Diocletian? What about Carpe Diem and sucking all the marrow out of life and stuff?"

"Sucking all the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone," the Italian reprimanded calmly. "There's a time for daring, there's a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for."

The Frenchman sighed. "I was hoping you would like that, sir."

"No. You being expelled from this school isn't daring to me," the teacher replied flatly. "It's stupid, because you'll miss some golden opportunities."

"_Oui_? Like what?"

Mr. Vargas smiled mischievously. "Like, if nothing else, the opportunity to attend my classes. Got it ace?"

Francis was a little shocked by how casual Mr. Vargas was, but he returned the smile. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Mr. Vargas gave the Frenchman a noogie. "Keep your head about you." He turned to Alfred and smirked. "You too, Mr. Jones. Skipping class to snag a date is stupid, not daring." Everyone else laughed, wondering what the American did, while Kiku and Francis' eyes met with satisfaction. Alfred and Arthur couldn't help but blush at the teacher's statement. Mr. Vargas turned back to the other students. "That goes for all of you. Know the difference between daring and stupid."

"Yes, Captain," the boys replied in unison.

The teacher made his way to the door. "Phone call from God," he murmured loudly enough for everyone to hear. "If it had been collect, it wouldn't be daring."

Francis grinned at the statement. Toris handed back the cigarette, but he didn't take it.

* * *

The day of lights and love for so many people who observed it in the warmth of their lover's arms, the quiet day which commemorated the greatest blessing given to humans, and the day in which all people who had someone were able to rub it in the face of people who had no one came as a curse to Alfred F. Jones.

Well, Valentine's Day was an eternal curse to anyone who had no one, wasn't it?

Most Valentine's Days were a curse to Alfred. Valentine's Day brought always brought memories of rejections, starting with his first crush when he was younger who he refuses to name right now, with the most recent one probably being Ivan's younger sister, Natalya, to whom he confessed when he was, what? 6th grade? And aside from that, too many girls gave him chocolates on Valentine's Day, which is why he'd always end up with a stomach ache the very next day, even if the chocolates were delicious.

Needless to say, Valentine's Day probably shouldn't have ever been invented.

And Valentine's Day this year fell on a Tuesday, which meant that he had to go to a certain all-girls school after class.

Great. Just great.

"You're the only one I have left to deal with this day, Tony," Alfred whined, holding up the stuffed alien that Matthew gave him as a Christmas present. "I hate Valentine's Day. It's the best day in the year to eat junk food, cry, and watch sappy romantic comedies. I hate crying and watching sappy romantic comedies. Then even when you're happy being single, someone's gotta come in and make you feel like shit. In fact, the whole world is gonna make you feel like shit since this day is supposed to set the standards for romance. And then, if you try to stand up anyway, people will excessively praise you for being 'strong and independent'." The American sighed. "Seriously, if I could, I would stab Valentine's Day 33 times. I don't care if it whispers, 'Et tu, Alfred?' This day deserves to—"

"Hey, Alfred?" Arthur peeked in from outside. "Breakfast time. We're having bacon and eggs today."

Alfred stood up immediately. "Yes! Finally, something good happened on Valentine's Day!"

Arthur flinched a little at the mention of the last words, but immediately recovered with an awkward smile. "Right, it's Valentine's Day today, huh… Time really does fly by quickly. Well, are we going to head to the cafeteria?"

"Yeah, of course! Who in their right mind would give up bacon and eggs?"

The pair head outside, and Arthur tried to talk a little bit on the way down, yet Alfred could tell that something was probably bothering the Briton.

"You know, Francis wouldn't stop talking about his Valentine's Day plans," Arthur said. "It was really annoying! But speaking of which, do you have any plans today?"

_Oh. So that was it, huh. _"Why are you asking? Don't tell me you're gonna be alone today. That's sooooo sad for you~!" Alfred chuckled.

"Sh-shut up, idiot! And answer my question!"

"Well, as much as I'd hate to admit it, I'm alone today."

"Is that so?" Arthur gave a slightly mocking grin. "And Kiku told me that you were way popular with the ladies last year. That's sooooo sad for you~!"

"Sh-shut up!" Alfred blushed. "How about you? What are your plans for today?"

"Hm…" Arthur paused, trying to remember something, then grinned. "There's someone I'm going to meet up with later today."

_Heart pang. _"I-is that so?" Alfred couldn't help but feel a little dejected for some reason that he didn't really know. Was he jealous because Arthur was seeing someone who wasn't him? "I-I see then. I guess you're not as anti-social as I thought you were… You have someone to see… So that's how it is…"

The Brit looked at the American blankly, but then burst out laughing. "Alfred."

"What?"

"You really are an idiot, you know!"

"Wha—?! Go to hell, Arthur~!"

When Arthur stopped laughing, he smiled in the most warm-hearted way Alfred had ever seen, and it caused the American to melt a little. "You're the one beside me right now, aren't you? So, I need to ask, can you meet me at lunch today in the music room?"

"Wait, so you're saying that… I'm the one you're gonna meet up with later today?" _And wait, why is my pulse rising all of a sudden…? _

Arthur's cheeks turned a little pink. "Yes. You think you can make it?"

It was Alfred's time to return Arthur's cheesiness. "Anything for you, Artie. Anything for you."

* * *

He wanted to use the piano. That was why he reserved the music room during lunch time. Of course, the fact that Arthur even had knowledge of a musical instrument came as a bit of a shock to Alfred. Not too much, though, considering how he'd heard Arthur sing before. But the American had to ask how the Brit knew how to play.

"My parents made me take up piano and violin when I was younger," Arthur explained as he sat by the piano and put sheet music on the stand. Surrounded by instruments and with the sunlight streaming through the windows, Arthur almost looked like an angel just sitting by the piano. "I hated it with a passion, so I saved up money to buy my own guitar and eventually I learned that as well. But I figured out that having a little knowledge of the piano helps when composing songs."

"Composing songs…?" Alfred grinned. "You actually finished your song, Artie?"

"Not really. This is a new song." Arthur smiled sheepishly and motioned to the space next to him. "Sit here. The lyrics are a little bit messy and it really isn't that good yet, but I want you to be the first to hear it."

The American did as commanded. He looked at the sheet music, but it was a challenge to read due to the lines scratched out and the illegible, rushed notes at the side, but these were Arthur's hard-worked lyrics in all their glory. Alfred glanced up to the Briton, who was smiling with quiet pride, and the bespectacled blonde went with the urge to return the smile. "Okay, let me hear it then."

Arthur nodded and played a few soft notes on the piano, the melody flowing easily through Alfred's ears. Then Arthur played the intro, which came like a breath of fresh air that Alfred didn't know he needed. The music was upbeat but with a hint of melancholy, and the way that Arthur dealt with the instrument was so precise and refined and careful and lovely.

Alfred was pretty sure that he would rest in peace at this point, but then Arthur started singing softly, words flowing smoothly. His voice was slightly different compared to the first time Alfred had heard him, richer and deeper, with more emotion and more character.

_I want to be a person who's exactly like you._

_I want to be a person who's exactly like "me". _

_Though it would be quite nice if that were actually true,_

_In the end, would that still be the actual me?_

_I am a dream that's only somebody's child-play._

_Would it be fine if I just ended my own life one day?_

Alfred closed his eyes to listen as Arthur sang louder, sadder.

_Just by my own self living on and being here,_

_Tens of thousands of people are now getting sad._

_Everybody wants me to disappear, _

_And maybe by then the whole world would be glad._

_Just by my own self finally ceasing to exist,_

_Hundreds, millions of people would be happier._

_If everybody had no more reason to resist,_

_Such a happy thing won't happen ever._

Arthur continued playing his piece, eyes never leaving the music sheet. Then he sang again, singing more mutedly.

_Tomorrow too, I'll keep on living half-awake._

_If I just disappeared, there won't be anything at stake._

He sang louder, feeling the lyrics even more.

_Just by my own self living on and being here,_

_Hundreds, millions of people wouldn't ever know._

_Everybody wants me to disappear, _

_And maybe by then a paradise will show._

_Just by my own self finally ceasing to exist,_

_Hundreds, millions of people wouldn't change a thing._

_If everybody had no more reason to resist,_

_Such a happy thing won't happen ever._

_In the end, everybody will cease their own existence in the same way._

_My own self that was made in others will also cease to exist one day._

_In the end, everybody will stop their own existence in the same way._

Arthur sang those last three lines in a whisper. Alfred opened his eyes upon hearing the music's volume diminish until it was almost inaudible. The Briton was staring at him, a soft smile highlighting his emerald eyes as he sang the next lyrics.

_Just by my own self living on and being here,_

_Tell me, why are you smiling at me in that way?_

The music's volume increased, the song reaching its climax.

_All because of your smile so bright,_

_Even if I feel like I really want to die,_

_I will still live and continue this fight _

_For you have become my one reason why._

Arthur sang at his loudest, closing his eyes and smiling.

_Just by my own self living on and being here, _

_Hundreds, millions of people wouldn't change a thing._

_But because you've convinced me to never disappear,_

_Don't make that face at me while you are laughing._

He played the last notes softly, the song complete, his melody sung, and it faded out with the last note, an open ending representing how his life still continues on, a note of hope in the darkest of hours.

A silence settled in that moment, the only sound in the room being Arthur's slightly heavy breathing. The song must've taken energy to sing, but in the end it was all worth it.

"Do you like it?" Arthur asked with anticipation on his features.

Alfred smiled at the Briton and nodded. "I love it."

Arthur smiled and sighed in relief. "That's good to hear." A soft yet warm weight landed on Alfred's shoulder then, and the bespectacled blonde looked to find that Arthur had rested his head on his shoulder. Alfred could only stare and wonder about the meaning behind that simple action. The weight of the Brit leaning against him was one of those things that was a pearl in a string necklace, the fragrance of black tea and roses being burned into his mind, and just like that Alfred couldn't think straight anymore.

Arthur closed his eyes and whispered, "It's finally finished. I can't believe it."

At that moment, Alfred felt like there was way more he wanted to say to Arthur. He couldn't exactly form the words in his head, but his mouth was already moving. "Hey, Arthur?"

The Briton straightened himself and smiled. "Yes?"

Why the heck his face warming up, Alfred could only wonder. Just staring at Arthur's smile was enough to make him melt. He still tried finding the words as Arthur waited. The American could feel his mouth going dry. Why was he so nervous? He was just talking to a friend. A real close friend at that.

"Um, Arthur, I… What I want to say is…" Alfred kept on pausing, the words being held back. But Arthur stared on, patient. "The thing is, I—"

The bell signaling the end of lunch rang, and Alfred didn't know if he should feel relieved or disappointed.

Arthur stood up and packed away his sheet music. "We'd better go," he said. "We don't want Mrs. Hassan to yell at us for being late." He looked back to Alfred and stretched out his hand. "You coming?"

Alfred took it. "Of course."

It was then that he realized the words he wanted to say.

_I'm in love with you._

* * *

_A/N: I actually don't know what to put in this author's note since the return to school had drained all my energy, but on the bright side, suspensions and holidays gave me more time to update. _

_Writing the first scene was a bit tricky, so I had to interview people about the pain of getting hit in the thighs with a paddle. After an excruciatingly long talk about the pain that a certain person went to, I felt so sorry for putting Francis through all that shit…_

_Arthur finally finished writing Jishou Mushoku! Yay! Let's see what will happen once he finishes writing Let's Enjoy Today. Maybe by then USUK would be fully canon. And maybe by then the whole world would be glad…_

…_Except for those who don't ship it, of course. Sorry._

_Special shout-out to Noire Knightmare! Seriously, your comments make me blush, and I hope you're doing okay with life~! :)_

_Please leave a review on your way out, friends! Thank you and have a nice day!_


	16. A Dream within a Dream

_O God! can I not save_

_One from the pitiless wave?_

_Is all that we see or seem_

_But a dream within a dream?_

-Edgar Allan Poe, _A Dream within a Dream_

* * *

"O, 'tis too true!" Arthur quoted, reading somewhat half-heartedly from his copy of _Hamlet_ while he and Alfred were making their way to the wharf near the lake. It was March now, and spring could already be felt just by gazing at the now-blue skies or seeing the small leaves growing on the trees' branches.

"How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience. / The harlot's cheek beautied with plast'ring art / Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it / Than is my deed to my most painted word. / O heavy burden!" The Brit turned the page and tried to change his voice to signal Polonius' line. "I hear him coming. Let's withdraw, my lord."

Alfred couldn't respond at that moment because he was staring at Arthur. He looked so handsome standing there, reading with such concentration over the lines of the play, and with the early spring sunlight streaming from behind him he almost looked like an angel…

Crap, Alfred still hadn't gotten over what happened last Valentines' Day, has he?

Arthur looked up from his papers and frowned. "Let's withdraw, my lord."

The star of Shakesfest blinked once, then laughed awkwardly. "Oh! Right, right. Sorry. Ahem!" He gave himself a mental slap for his earlier thoughts and began reciting the next lines in the most dramatic way he could.

"To be or not to be?—that is the question! / Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer /The _slings _and _arrows_—"

"Alfred."

"—of outrageous fortune! / Or to take _arms_ against a sea of troubles!"

"Alfred!"

"And, by opposing, end them! To _die_, to _sleep_—!"

"NO MORE, ALFRED!" Arthur snapped, trying to get the American's attention. Finally catching it, he sighed and crossed his arms. "Look, that's not how you're supposed to recite a suicidal soliloquy. If anything, you sound exactly like a constipated cheerleader. It amuses me that you were even able to get the main part considering how terrible your recitation of those lines was."

"Well, I'm sorry I couldn't live up to your oh-so-high expectations!" Alfred huffed, a little bit hurt at Arthur's comment. And it definitely wasn't because he had a crush on him, okay? (Not that he had a crush in the first place.) The real problem here was, gosh, was that how much confidence the Brit had in him? "I auditioned as Horatio, but I didn't expect that I would get Hamlet… Besides, I'm not even sure what this whole 'To be or not to be' thing is all about."

"Well you got Hamlet, so you should make the most of it," Arthur said flatly. "I'll give you some advice on how to recite the soliloquy, and you'd better remember it."

_Shit, _Alfred thought worriedly. _Arthur's about to go on philosophical mode again! What should I do?_

"First, keep in mind that Hamlet here is debating about whether it's more honorable to suffer all of life's problems or oppose all of the troubles that we may face.

"Second, he believes that dying and sleeping are practically the same thing, and the sleep of death ends all problems we have—except we are unaware of what dreams may come from it. Those unknown dreams are what makes us deal with the problems and trials we have here, even if we can be freed from it any time by dying. Just thinking about all of that reduces us to cowards, and we end up choosing not to do things with our lives.

"So when you recite the soliloquy, don't even dare to sound like a constipated cheerleader. When you say the words, let them flow straight out through you, and try to feel what the character is feeling. Say it softly since the character is debating on life, and because the character is trying to express his innermost thoughts into words. Got it?"

Alfred tried to smile, because Arthur going on philosophical mode was like sweet torture. "I got it. But that doesn't necessarily explain how I should recite it, you know. Could you do me a favor and demonstrate?"

Arthur scowled. "Huh? Why me? I suck at acting, Alfred."

"Then don't act," Alfred suggested. "Just think that… you're saying the lyrics to that song of yours instead of singing them."

"Fine, I'll try it then." Arthur swallowed and began reading the lines, his accent and emotions bringing much justice to the four hundred year old words.

_To be, or not to be—that is the question:_

_Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer_

_The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,_

_Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,_

_And, by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep—_

_No more—and by a sleep to say we end_

_The heartache and the thousand natural shocks_

_That flesh is heir to—'tis a consummation_

_Devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep—_

_To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,_

_For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,_

_When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,_

_Must give us pause. There's the respect_

_That makes the calamity of so long life._

_For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,_

_Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,_

_The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, _

_The insolence of office, and the spurns_

_That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,_

_When he himself might his quietus make _

_With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,_

_To grunt and sweat under a weary life,_

_But that the dread of something after death,_

_That undiscovered country from whose bourn_

_No traveler returns, puzzles the will,_

_And makes us rather bear those ills we have_

_Than fly to others that we know not of?_

_Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,_

_And thus the native hue of resolution_

_Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,_

_And enterprises of great pitch and moment_

_With this regard their currents turn awry_

_And lose the name of action.—Soft you now,_

_The fair Ophelia.—Nymph, in thy orisons_

_Be all my sins remembered. _

The last word faded out to silence between the two boys, broken eventually by Arthur looking down to the grass, embarrassed. "I'm sorry if it was terrible. I already told you I'm not that much of an actor. These eyebrows weren't made for the spotlight. I'll be better off pulling the strings from backstage," he joked sadly.

Alfred shook his head. "No way, dude! That was amazing! In fact, they should give you this part, not me. Acting's gotta be one of the most wonderful things in the world, and I think it's really meant for you. Most people, if they're lucky enough, get to lead half an exciting life. Imagine: if you get all the parts you could live _dozens _of exciting lives!" He stopped at the wharf and grinned mischievously. "To be, or not to be—that is the question! You know, Artie, for the first time in my life I feel completely alive! And speaking of backstage, Katyusha told me to invite more people to run the lights and stuff. You should come to the rehearsals!"

Arthur chuckled. "You really think I should?"

Alfred nodded. "Mm-hm. And you'll be able to check out the girls too. The girl who plays Ophelia is pretty awesome."

"Really? What does she look like?"

"Nah, you're not coming anyway." Alfred fake-pouted. "Forget it. Let's skip this soliloquy and go to the next part."

"Okay." Arthur turned the page. "'Good my lord, / How does your Honor for this many a day?'"

Alfred smiled. "'I humbly thank you, well.'"

* * *

Alfred was late for the afterschool Shakesfest practice on a warm day in April. It wasn't because he was too lazy to go to practice. Hell no, he would NEVER be too lazy to go to practice. He'd simply lost track of time while helping Kiku and Yao prepare for the Chemistry quiz tomorrow. He biked as fast as he could when the four o'clock bell sounded off in the campus, hoping that he wasn't needed on stage yet.

When he arrived at the Mother Rose Auditorium, he sighed in relief upon seeing that they were practicing the scene where Laertes talked to Ophelia before leaving for Paris. He decided to take a seat at the back so that he wouldn't be noticed by anyone.

"We're trying to rehearse, guys! Please lower your voices," Katyusha called politely to the people fixing the props backstage. She was seated in the orchestra pit, a copy of Hamlet in her hands. They obeyed and the director turned to Antonio and Maria, who were waiting for their signals at the right side of the stage. "When the stage lights brighten, you should be seated here, Maria. After a beat, start speaking Antonio. Make sure to stand next to your sister and look at her while you speak. Now, take the positions and let me hear you say your lines."

Antonio nodded and looked at the Filipina. "'My necessaries are embarked. Farewell. / And, sister, as the winds give benefit / And convey is assistant, do not sleep, / But let me hear from you.'"

Maria nodded at her brother's words with the sweetest smile on her face. "'Do you doubt that?'"

"'For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, / Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, / A violet in the youth of primy nature, / Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, / The perfume and suppliance of a minute, / No more.'"

"Stop, please," said Katyusha. "Say that as a reminder, Antonio. How would you feel if Maria here was going out with someone you don't trust? You're the older brother, so you should be able to advise your younger sister properly. Now, here, go down on one knee and take her hands as you speak. There, like that. Say the lines again."

Just as Antonio's mouth opened to speak, Maria glanced up and saw Alfred at the back of the auditorium. She waved him over. "You're late, Alfred!" she noted in with a sing-song tone.

Katyusha turned to face him as he went down. "Alfred, where were you? We were worried that you wouldn't come today. We only have a month left until show time, remember?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry." The American put his things down and took off his coat. "I lost track of time. Don't worry, it won't happen again."

"Okay. I don't need to remind you that we only have a month left until the premiere," Katyusha sighed in relief. "Well, go on backstage and look for Toris. Practice Act 5, Scene 1 with him."

Alfred nodded and smiled, silently thanking the Lord for giving him an opportunity such as this.

* * *

One word that would always be an accurate description of the dorms in the evening was chaos. Alfred tried to squeeze his way through the sea of humanity that evening, but he eventually discovered through Kiku why there was so much commotion than normal on the way down the one staircase.

"We're having spaghetti and meatballs today," Kiku mentioned as Alfred passed by. "Everyone's afraid that by the time they get there they won't have anything left."

"Of course we're gonna run out of food! We rarely have something that good," Alfred sighed. "Save some for me, please, Kiku?"

"Sure, Alfred-san." And the Asian head down the stairs with the rest of humanity.

Alfred smiled and began reciting some of his lines while heading to his room. "'Has this fellow no feeling of his business? He sings in grave-making!' 'Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.' ' 'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.'"

When he opened the door, he felt all happiness grow cold just by the sight of a face he least expected to see. His father Allen was seated at his desk, staring solemnly at the typewriter lit up the table lamp. "D-dad," Alfred managed, his throat beginning to go dry.

"Alfred," Allen replied without any traces of warmth.

The American knew that this day would come and prepared what he would say countless times, but the shock of actually seeing his father here left him at a loss for words. After an eternity of silence, he tried to speak up. "Wait a minute, dad. Before you say anything, please let me expla—"

"Don't you dare talk back at me!" Alfred's father slammed his hands from the table and no longer bothered to hide his anger and disappointment at his son as he stood up. "It's already bad enough that you've wasted your time with this… this absurd acting business. Fine! I could live with the fact that you disobeyed me. But you deliberately deceived me! How, how did you expect to get away with this? Answer me, and don't you dare lie this time because it insults my intelligence." He began pacing around the room, trying to calm down. "Who put you up to it? Was it that new teacher? This, uh, Mr. Vargas?"

"Nobody put me up to it, dad," Alfred tried to explain, looking down to the floor. "I thought… I thought I'd surprise you. I mean, even with afterschool practices I was able to get straight A's…"

Allen scoffed. "Did you even think for one moment that I wasn't going to find out? 'Oh, my nephew is in a play with your son, Alfred,' says Mrs. Bondevik. 'No, no, no,' I reply. 'You must be mistaken. Alfred isn't in a play.' You made me a liar, Alfred!" He glared at the bespectacled blonde. "Now, tomorrow you go to AC and tell them that you're quitting."

Alfred's head shot up immediately at those words. "I-I can't! I have the main p-part! The play is in a month!"

"I don't care if the world comes to an end in a month!" Allen yelled in anger, causing Alfred to flinch. He sighed and rubbed his temples. "You are through with that play. Is that clear, Alfred?"

_No, _Alfred thought, _because all you see in me is a model child who only obeys and focuses on getting into college. All you see in me is a person to continue mom's unfinished dream. _

"Is that clear, Alfred?" Allen asked again, this time louder.

_Yet, the truth is: that isn't me. I want you to find who I really am, and I want to be able to find my own identity. Acting is something to help me with that—I love doing it, and it helps me escape this painful reality you set up for me. I can pretend to be someone else while the curtains are up._

"Yes, sir," Alfred replied with a half-hearted smile.

_I don't expect you to understand._

"Good." Allen was about to leave, but he turned back once he reached the door post. "I made a great many sacrifices to get you here, Alfred," he whispered, "and you will not let me down."

_You never will anyway._

"No, sir." And with that, his father left.

Alfred felt his knees weaken afterwards, but he tried to stand up anyway, walking to his closet. He opened it and took one of the achievement pins that were attached to his uniform during the first day of school. He drove the point into his thumb, cursing his circumstances and wishing for another means of escape. The blood began dripping a few seconds later, the strong, sickening liquid glowing vibrantly against his pale skin.

The American dropped the pin when the pain was too much already. All the feelings of regret, anger, and despair formed a terrible feeling in his gut, and he couldn't take it anymore. He gagged and went down on his knees, allowing all of his pent-up emotions to spill out in tears.

"Ah, geez," Alfred cried out, taking off his glasses and wiping his blood-shot eyes. "I've faced much worse than this…"

But in this moment, he really couldn't think of anything worse than being confined to the cage that his father made for him. He stayed on the floor with his head in his hands, the sadness overwhelming him. And then the determination that kept him in Shakesfest all those months made him stand up and head to the door. There was only one person who could save him. He would go look for him, and he would find that one person with the wisdom that he always trusted.

For justice, he had to go to Mr. Vargas.

* * *

_A/N: Gosh darn, that last part was so hard to write because I was probably crying with Alfred. But at any rate, did anyone catch my references to the Godfather? :3_

_Okay guys, I have a really huge favor to ask. To those of you who've seen the movie, please don't talk about it in the reviews. Yes, you can ask if the outcome of this fic will be close to the movie, but no spoilers please! Let's allow those who haven't watched it yet to enjoy being led blindly down the maze that is this story!_

_Special shout-out to Guest for reviewing! Thanks to also to those who favorite-d and followed this fic! :)_

_Please leave a review on your way out! Thank you very much~! _


	17. Alone

_From childhood's hour I have not been_

_As others were; I have not seen_

_As others saw; I could not bring_

_My passions from a common spring.__  
_

-Edgar Allan Poe, _Alone_

* * *

It started when Francis dared every right handed person at the table to eat with their left hands.

The struggle was real on their part; in vain they tried to eat the glorious spaghetti with its delectable meatballs, but to no avail when the food would slip off their forks and end up leaving marks of tomato sauce against their vests and sweaters. But the joy was in that struggle, either way. Kiku, who was born left-handed but learned to be ambidextrous, laughed at his friends' attempts at eating and politely entertained most of the questions as to how he managed becoming ambidextrous in the first place.

Francis was about to shove another mouthful of spaghetti in his mouth when Mr. Beilschmidt approached the table, wearing a curious yet strict expression on his normally stoic features. "_Monsieur_ Bonnefoy," he greeted.

"Lovely evening we're having, _Monsieur_," Francis replied in jest.

The teacher nodded slowly, regarding everyone at the table quietly. "Are you gentlemen all normally left handed?"

"No, sir," everyone (except for Kiku) replied in unison.

Mr. Beilshmidt nodded. "Is that so? Then would any of you care to explain to me why you're all eating with your left hands?"

Gilbert spoke up as one of the few people who can talk as casually as possible with the German teacher. "We thought it would be good to break old habits, sir!" he chided.

The elder Beilshmidt frowned. "And what's so wrong with old habits, Gilbert?"

"They perpetuate mechanical living, sir," the albino explained. "They limit your mind."

"Gilbert," the teacher reprimanded with a tone that was often used with fathers talking to their sons, "I suggest that you worry less about breaking old habits. After all, Benjamin Franklin once said, 'It is easier to prevent bad habits than to break them.' So instead of trying to break your old habits, try developing more good study habits. Understood?"

The albino nodded amusedly. "Yes, sir."

"That goes for all of you," the teacher continued, looking at each of them in the eyes. "Keep your head about you," then he grabbed Arthur by the left hand. "Now, eat with your correct hands."

Everyone followed the teacher's instructions and reverted back to their right hands. Francis waited quietly until Mr. Beilshmidt was at the other table before he shoved an enormous meatball into his mouth with his left hand.

Alfred arrived a few minutes later, now wearing his favorite bomber jacket over a white t-shirt. He was so quiet that for a second the group didn't even notice he was there. Francis was the first to notice him, waving him over to the table.

"You're late, Alfred~!" Francis commented, wearing the biggest grin he could muster. "You're missing out on a lot, you know? Here's your serving of spaghetti—"

"I'm not hungry," Alfred said quietly, wearing a slightly melancholic expression that was a rare sight for anyone who knew the American.

Francis immediately sensed that something was bothering the bespectacled blonde. He put down his fork and approached him. "Hey, what's wrong? You can always tell Big Brother about it, _oui_?"

"N-nothing's wrong!" Alfred denied immediately, raising his hands up quickly before putting them back in his jacket pockets. In that brief moment, Francis noticed the band-aid wrapped tightly around the American's thumb. "I just… I need to talk to Mr. Vargas. Can you come with me to his office? I can't… I don't want to go alone."

"No problem, _mon ami_!" Francis pat Alfred's shoulder. "Wait, I'll just dump this." He took his now-empty plate of spaghetti and dumped the plates near the trash can. "There, now that's over with. Shall we take our leave?"

Alfred nodded. The two passed through the dorms to get to the teacher's wing, where students went to when needing consultations for exams or missed lessons. They eventually found Mr. Vargas' office at the end of the hallway. Francis knocked on the door, but after no response he barged in despite Alfred's protests.

The first thing Francis noticed was a picture of two Italians slightly younger than him on Mr. Vargas' desk. They were twins, resembling the teacher thanks to the weird curls sticking out of their hair. The one to the right had Mr. Vargas' cheerful smile and brown eyes while the one to the left had Mr. Vargas' hair and build. Then, Francis noticed an opened letter on the teacher's desk lying next to an empty sheet of paper waiting to be written on. He chuckled and began reading it out loud to the American:

_Dear Romu-jiichan,_

_It's been a while since I've written to you! I hope you're doing well teaching in Welton. Lovino and I are doing fine back here in London. He recently got involved a little in a fight at school, but other than that nothing much has been happening. We've been managing pretty well here even if we live alone at the apartment but, you know, there are still times when we really miss you. It's so quiet here without your funny jokes and words of wisdom! I hope that once summer rolls around you'll be able to visit us, even if it's for a short while, and like I promised, I'll cook pasta to celebrate your return!_

_Um, Romu-jiichan, I apologize if this is too much to ask of you considering how many other people you need to take care of, but I really need some advice right now. I can't say that this is a huge problem since it really isn't in the grand scale of things, but it is one to me, and I hope you'll hear it out. _

_About a year since you've been gone, a pen pal program started in our school with another school in America. I've been sending letters to my pen pal for a while already, even after the program ended. He's German, he likes sausages, and he's a really hard worker. The truth is__… I really lo—_

Francis stopped abruptly because Mr. Vargas entered the room, wearing an expression that showed silent anger. Alfred and Francis held their breath, afraid of a sermon that might follow, but the teacher interrupted by Keating's return. Keating casually tooktakes the letter from the Frenchman and said, "Glad to see that the democratic element of being informed is evident in this school." He then opened a drawer and smiled in a very deadly manner. "Is there anything else you would like to rifle through, _Monsieur_ Bonnefoy?"

"N-no thank you, sir," Francis stammered, because an angry Mr. Vargas was a sight he certainly didn't want to see. "I'm sorry."

The teacher sighed. "It's alright, Francis. Just, don't do it again. What brings the two of you here?"

"Ah, you see, Alfred told me he needs to have some heart-to-heart with you at the moment, so I'll be taking my leave right now," Francis said. "Good luck, _monsieurs_!"

The door shut as Francis took his awkward leave.

* * *

"Heart-to-heart, eh?" Mr. Vargas chuckled, sitting down near the desk where the Frenchman found the letter. "What's the reason behind it, Alfred? Ah, silly me. Here, take a seat."

Alfred sat down nervously, but noticed that the chair was piled up with books. The student picked them up and the teacher apologized once more as he got up to help. "I'm sorry I'm disturbing you at this hour, but I really need some help right now," Alfred muttered.

"It's no problem at all, Alfred," Mr. Vargas assured. "I get quite lonely cooped up in this room sometimes. Want some tea?"

Alfred flinched a little because that last word reminded him of that time when Arthur had sung that song of his, but he shook his head. "No thank you. I like the scent of tea, but I never really liked drinking it." He looked around a little, taking in the minimum space and the maximum clutter. "They don't really give you much room around here, huh."

The teacher smiled. "Mm-hm. It's part of the monastic oath. They don't want worldly things distracting me from my teaching."

"Is that so…" Alfred noticed the picture of the two Italians and remembered the letter that Francis read aloud earlier. "Are they your grandkids?"

"Yeah," Mr. Vargas beamed with pride and nostalgia. "They're a little younger than you, just so you know."

"W-wait, they're you're grandkids?!" Alfred couldn't contain his shock. "How old are you?!"

"Hey, that's a pretty rude question to ask, even if I'm a guy!" Mr. Vargas said. "But one of the blessings that God has given me in this life is that I'm way older than I actually appear." He winked mischievously. "Their parents died in an accident when they were younger, so I took it upon myself to raise them. It's a bit difficult that they're in London while I'm here, but we're getting by, achieving our separate dreams."

"I-I don't mean to pry, but what was that letter about exactly?"

"Ah, you see, my little Feli—" he pointed to the twin with brown eyes, "he'd fallen for someone he hasn't met personally. They only talk to each other through letters since they're pen pals, but he really wants to take their relationship to the next level even if he knows long-distance relationships don't normally work out. So he's asking me to think up a solution to his predicament."

"Woah," Alfred said, a little bit shocked.

"'Woah' just might be the right term for it," Mr. Vargas agreed. "And you thought that your relationship with Arthur was pretty rocky."

"R-relationship?! W-what do you mean?" The American's face began burning like the Olympic flame.

"Isn't that what you came here to talk about?" the teacher asked with the most blank face he could pull. "Were you going to ask me of ways in which you can get Arthur to go out with you? Or were you going to ask me for ways to get him to go to bed with y—"

"N-no way! My problem right now has nothing to do with Eyebrows, okay?!" Alfred exclaimed in embarrassment that the first thing that came to the teacher's mind would be something like _that_, even if that topic may have been at the back of Alfred's head for a while now…

Hell no, it wasn't even there to begin with.

"How can you stand it?" Alfred asked quietly.

"Stand what?"

"You can go anywhere. You can do anything. How can you stand being here?"

"I love teaching," Mr. Vargas replied, smiling with his eyes. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Alfred sighed. "I-I just talked to my father. He's making me quit Shakesfest. But teaching to you is like acting to me. It's everything to me. I… But he just doesn't see it. He… I understand where he's coming from, though. Our family isn't as rich as Francis' or Gilbert's. It took him a lot of effort for me to be able to study here. And yet, he's planning the rest of my life for me. He's making me pick up the dream that my mom wasn't able to reach. He never once asked me what I want to do."

"Have you ever told your father what you're telling me right now? Your passion for acting. You ever show him that?"

Alfred smiled sadly. "I can't. How can I try to explain? When I do, he turns away again. It's always been the same old story…"

"Really? You can't?"

"I can't talk to him this way."

"Then you're acting for him too," Mr. Vargas commented. "You're playing the part of the dutiful son. I know, it sounds impossible, but you have to talk to him. Take off the mask, show him who you are, what your heart is."

Alfred huffed, arms crossed. "That's a laugh! I already know what he's going to say. He'll tell me that acting's a whim, and I should forget it. Then he'll even convince my brother Matthew to tell me the same thing. That's how they're counting on me. Everyone will just tell me to put it out of my mind, 'for my own good'."

"You're not a slave, Alfred," the teacher encouraged, looking at the student straight in the eye. "If it's not a whim for you, prove it to them with your conviction and your passion. Show them all that you're serious. And if they still don't believe you, keep on believing in yourself anyway. You'll be out of school in a year and by then you can do anything you want."

A single tear fell down Alfred's cheek and he brushed it away with the sleeve of his jacket. "I can't do that either. What about the play? The show is… The show is in a month!"

Mr. Vargas smiled and pat the shoulder of the crying boy. "Well, you'll have to talk to him before the curtains open. One month is a long time. A lot of things can happen in one month."

Alfred looked up and said desperately, "Isn't there an easier way?"

"The easier way isn't always the way one should go," Mr. Vargas said. "There's no other way for you but to speak up."

Alfred laughed sadly. "I'm trapped."

Mr. Vargas shook his head solemnly. "No, you're not."

* * *

_A/N: We have so many freaking holidays in August. Seriously, I wrote this whole chapter in one day, and I still have three days of freedom left since Monday and Friday are holidays. Why can't some of these holidays go to September, hm? September may have suspensions due to it being the typhoon season here in the Philippines, but still! I want a holiday on my birthday!_

_Anywho, I finally finished this chappy! This scene in the movie was actually really heartbreaking to watch because you end up feeling bad for Alfred's character. But hey, with a little prayer and a little song maybe things will turn out better for our beloved American._

_I happened to meet a bunch of Japanese exchange students in my school and guess what? THEY LIKE HETALIA. There's a picture of USUK on my clipboard and when two of them saw it they were like, "Hetaria?" and I was like, "Hetalia!" and we were like, "YAY~!"_

_One of them likes Arthur while the other one likes Alfred. Feels._

_Special shout-out goes to Ninilia for reviewing! And to answer your question, we'll see how it plays out because spoilers suck~!_

_Please feel free to leave a review on the way out. Thank you and have a nice day~!_


	18. The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

_Come live with me and be my love,_

_And we will all the pleasures prove_

_That hills and valleys, dales and fields,_

_And all the craggy mountain yields._

-Christopher Marlowe, _The Passionate Shepherd to His Love_

* * *

Gilbert had been passing by the music room when he heard the sound of a singing voice accompanied by a guitar.

How the Prussian wound up in the area at the first place was due to forgetting his homework in the dorm. To get to the dorm in the quickest time possible, one had to pass through the area of the music room. But the sound of the guitar made him stop for a moment and look through the window of the music room's door since he knew for a fact that Ms. Miranda, the music teacher, was more inclined to play the piano rather than the guitar. And besides, the voice belonged to a dude.

The one who was playing the six-stringed instrument was none other than the huge-eyebrows Briton, Arthur Kirkland. His back was turned to the door, but one could easily tell it was him due to his messy, sandy blonde hair.

"The black tea from English shores is something one cannot defeat," he sang as he played. "If you brew it with the Golden Rule, nothing from elsewhere can compete. The Tower Bridge still stands up tall underneath London's twilight. Tea and sightseeing are most wonderful; with all this charming atmosphere, you'll be alright."

It wasn't the first time Gilbert had seen Arthur in action. The first time had been last Valentine's Day, back when the Briton debuted his music skills to a certain American. Kiku and Francis were spying on the two of them that day, and Gilbert didn't really understand what made him join them in their watching of the Special Relationship's progress. But he'd known about Arthur using the music room at lunch through Francis, and listening to the product of the Brit's labors was a rather interesting prospect.

Gilbert had to admit, Eyebrows had skills. The Brit wasn't as much of a nerd as he'd originally thought. And that complement may or may not have been referring to the fact that the song was a mild way of flirting with Alfred, even if the lyrics _were_ suicidal.

Arthur then proceeded to play a guitar solo, his guitar technique almost up there with Eric Clapton's or Brian May's. This song was more upbeat compared to the other song the he wrote, and the guitar solo gave it a more rock feel compared to the sadder piano notes of that suicidal song.

But then Arthur suddenly stopped playing, causing Gilbert to say, "That's it?" a bit too loudly.

Arthur turned in shock and frowned at the sight of the albino at the door's tiny window. "What are you doing here, Beilschmidt?" he asked with a tone as cold as ice.

Gilbert laughed awkwardly, because Arthur's current aura was almost as scary as that of Ivan's or Mr. Diocletian's. The Prussian opened the door and entered the music room, making his way slowly to the piano. "Uh, well, you see… I was supposed to get my homework from the dorm, but then I saw you playing. I d-didn't know you composed songs!"

Arthur shook his head. "Not really. I've only written two songs including this one, and it's still a work in progress. But I'd like to become better at it, I guess…"

"I-is that so?" Gilbert somehow managed to keep smiling as he sat down. "Well you won't become better at it, unless you finish this one. Did you get a writer's block for the next verse?"

"Sort-of," Arthur replied, putting the guitar in its stand. He took out a piece of crumpled paper and a pencil. "I know that there are a bunch of lines that I'll just repeat for the bridge, but I don't really know what I'll put after that…"

"I'm going to assume first that this song is about your (stupid) British pride since that part you sang a while ago mentioned stuff about England. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"Hmm… Why don't you include something about moving forward despite hardships?" Gilbert suggested. "I was checking out some war propaganda posters for Social Studies and I remember reading one about 'keeping calm' and 'carrying on' or something. I think it's rather cool how even if the Axis Powers in World War II kept beating the shit out of Britain and the other Allies, they still fought and managed to turn the tables around some years later. But this stays between us, Eyebrows, because Mr. Beilschmidt and my brother Ludwig wouldn't let me see tomorrow if they'd heard what I just said. Not because they support the Axis Powers or anything, but because the two of them have a pretty strong sense of German nationalism…"

"Okay, okay, I'll keep that in mind," Arthur said, scribbling down some notes on his paper. "Thank you, Gilbert."

"Hey, I'm always willing to help out a fellow Dead Poet even if he's a prick!"

"Ditto."

Silence settled afterwards. All that could be heard were the kids playing outside and the loud chattering of the high school students. Gilbert then asked the first question that popped up in his mind as a remedy to the awkward quietness.

"Why do you write songs?"

Arthur looked up from his paper with a blank expression. "Huh?"

"Why do you write songs?" Gilbert repeated. "What exactly do you gain from doing so?"

The Brit looked back to his papers and tapped his pencil to a beat against the music stand. "Well, I've never really thought about 'why', actually… But I think I write songs because…" When Arthur smiled, Gilbert almost thought that the Apocalypse had come, since ARTHUR DOES NOT_ DO _SMILE. "For the first time in a while, I have someone that I want to be with."

Gilbert almost burst out laughing, but managed to hold himself back. "Really?"

"I guess so," Arthur agreed. "I know it may sound funny, but that's how it really is. The reason I write songs is because I want that person to know that I'm doing my best for them. I want them to know that I'm thankful they're my friend and I appreciate that they actually do care about me. The feelings I have may not necessarily be romantic; it may not even be love that binds me to them or gives me a purpose. Besides, most of what I feel comes out amorphous. But I know deep down that writing my thoughts on paper turns them solid, putting music with it shapes it further, and… I really like this person, so I think that using my own voice sends my message across with much more ease."

At that moment, Elizaveta's face flashed in Gilbert's mind, her green eyes smiling as brightly as they had the first time he met her. The thoughts formed slowly, but the words came out, as bright and clear as the dawn.

_I want to see her again._ _I want her to trust me. I want her to laugh again. I want her to be happy. I want her to love me in return, even if it may take years for her to do so._

"_I think it might be best if we don't see each other again." She'd said that at the time. But, even so… Even so, I—_

"Didn't you say that you needed to get your homework from the dorm?" Arthur interrupted, looking at the clock. "We only have ten minutes till lunch ends."

"Oh, right!" Gilbert rose immediately. "Thanks for reminding me! Well, I'll go now. Great conversation we had there."

Arthur began fixing up the room as the Prussian made his way to the door. "Good luck with whatever else you have to do," the Brit replied distractedly.

Gilbert then ran as fast as his legs could take him, silently thanking the fact that their room was nearest to the stairs he would have to pass. But as he made his way to his destination, the same question played on repeat in his head: _How can I get my feelings to reach her?_

He opened the door to his room and found his homework on top of his desk, right where he'd left it that morning. Gilbert picked it up, then noticed a crumpled notebook page underneath. The words, written in pencil, were slightly faded but still readable.

"_To Elizaveta"_

_A Poem by Gilbert Beilschmidt_

* * *

Editing the poem and adding new stanzas was easy. Finding a way to read it to Elizaveta? Therein lay the challenge.

Gilbert went to Francis for advice first, but most of his advice had to be censored out since we're keeping this a rated-T fanfic. Francis then suggested that Gilbert should also talk to Kiku. After trying to get Alfred to take Arthur out on a "movie date" last Christmas, the Asian and Frenchman developed a bit of a partnership when it came to making relationships work.

After explaining his plan to them, Gilbert could only watch in awe as the pair worked their magic and gave him the opportunity to skip class. Mr. Vargas, God bless him, allowed Gilbert to leave for Ridgeway High during his period on the pretense that the albino needed to run an errand for him in the town.

Gilbert apologized multiple times that he would be skipping the teacher's class, but Mr. Vargas merely shook his head and smiled. "Desperate time call for desperate measures," he said. "I'm willing to help someone if it's for love!"

So one afternoon in mid-April, Gilbert exited through the main door to make his way to Ridgeway High. He took his bike from the stand next to the door and hurried off. He took in the scenery that he rarely got to see since around this time he would be stuck in the classroom. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue that day and the air was a bit warmer compared to the harsh winter. Flowers were starting to bloom above the grass and the birds were singing, thanking God that Spring had returned. Considering that everything seemed alright in the Nature department, maybe it was a sign of good luck on Gilbert's part.

The hallways were crowded when Gilbert entered Elizaveta's school, the students heading to the lockers to get their things for the next class. The albino managed to push through the sea of humanity without ruining the wildflowers he picked for his hopefully-soon-to-be lady. He called her name as he pushed through the crowds and noticed her curly brown hair almost immediately by the lockers. He tapped her shoulder and she turned to face him, but to his surprise it wasn't Elizaveta at all.

"Germaine?" Gilbert exclaimed, recognizing one of the girls who Francis brought to the cave last January. She wasn't wearing a braid this time, but her blue eyes and silver-rimmed glasses gave her away.

The Monacan recognized him as well. "Are you one of Francis' friends from the Dead Poets Society? I'm sorry, but I can't quite recall your name…"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt. But you can call me 'The Awesome One'."

"Oh, right!" She smiled. The way she spoke resembled that of the elderly. "What brings you here at this time of the day? Do you not have classes at this hour?"

"My teacher sent me here on an errand," Gilbert (rep)lied. "Do you know Elizaveta Hedervary?"

"I do. She is my batch mate."

"Do you know where she is?"

Germaine pointed down the hallway. "She should be in room 11 by this time."

"Ok, thank you." Gilbert began to make his way down the hall.

"Good luck with your errand! May you return victorious!" Germaine called from behind.

Gilbert looked back. Germaine was beaming with positivity, and it made him reciprocate it. "Thank you."

The albino continued moving forward, heedless of everyone else around him. He eventually found Elizaveta by her locker conversing with another girl, a tall Belgian with short hair. The Belgian noticed Gilbert first and pointed him out to Elizaveta. The Hungarian automatically frowned and shut her locker door, saying a quick 'Bye!' to her friend and trying to walk away.

"E-Elizaveta, I—" Gilbert began walking after her, but she cut him off.

"What are you doing here, Gilbert?" she asked exasperatedly. "I thought I told you to stop looking for me!"

"I came to apologize for the other night." The albino handed her the bouquet of wildflowers. "I brought you these and a poem I wrote for you."

Elizaveta sighed and pulled him aside, out of the main hallway. "Gilbert, don't you know that if Roderich finds you here it'll cause another scene? You could get beaten up again, and worse, you could die!"

"Then let me die," Gilbert said with a smile, the words flowing out rather easily. "I'd rather die being able to see you once more than to live another day being unable to see you. I love you, Elizaveta."

She scoffed. "You're crazy, Gilbert!"

He sighed. "Look, I acted like a jerk and I know it. But at least take these. Please."

"No. No… I-I can't. Just… Forget it." She walked away as the school bell rang. Then she entered her classroom, closing the door behind her. But Gilbert was already firm in his resolve, and he entered the classroom, opening the door and standing before her desk.

He wasn't ever going to let her slip out of his grasp again.

"Gilbert, please don't do this," Elizaveta said desperately, avoiding his eyes.

"If you don't want to read it yourself, then I'll read it to you," Gilbert said simply. He unfolded the paper with his poem as the class grew quiet, wondering what a Welton student was doing in their midst. The Prussian's voice shook as he spoke and his hands also trembled, but now that he'd gotten this far there was no way in Hellton he was going back.

_The heavens made a girl named Elizaveta,_

_With golden brown hair so soft and bright;_

_To hold her hand would be paradise;_

_To kiss her—victory after a fight._

_A goddess was born and named Elizaveta._

_She reigns from her throne up in the sky._

_As a mortal, I have no right to look upon her face,_

_But even so, I want to meet her eye._

_I will soar at once if I were given wings;_

_Reality remains cruel, I know._

_But though my soul remains chained to the Earth,_

_My love will continue to grow._

_I will keep tasting the sweetness in her smile,_

_Basking in the bright light from her eyes;_

_My life is complete—contentment is mine_

_Just knowing that she is alive._

Elizaveta's face was covered by her hands, making her expression unreadable. Gilbert put the poem and the wildflowers on her table, saying the words he knew would always be true.

"I love you, Elizaveta."

* * *

Gilbert snuck back into school through the kitchen. The food smelled rather terrible, which meant that tonight there would be another episode of "Avoiding the Hellton Hash". But the Prussian was too happy to care, snatching a slice of toast from the counter as he made his way to the dorm stairway. One of the chefs cast him an odd look as he left with the toast in his mouth, but he ignored it as he went up.

The bell signaling club time rang through the halls and Gilbert pushed his way up the stairs past fellow high school students and younger students alike. The Dead Poets were in their rooms upstairs, getting ready for clubs. The Prussian entered his room and took off his scarf, swallowing the last of the toast and sighing in relief afterward.

Someone knocked the door post, and the albino looked to its source. Francis and Kiku stood outside, smiling expectantly at Gilbert.

"How'd it go, _mon ami_?" Francis asked immediately. "Did you read it to her?"

Gilbert nodded. "Mm-hm."

Kiku's eyes began to sparkle with excitement. "What did Hedervary-san say?"

The Prussian picked up a notebook and a pen. He tucked the pen behind his ear and shrugged. "Nothing," he replied with a casual smile.

Francis' expression could be described as similar to that of a person who wakes up with half of their hair shaved off. "Nothing? W-what do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"Nothing, it's as simple as that." Gilbert exited his room and was about to leave for his club, but he turned back. "But I did it," he added in jest and broke into a run.

"What did she say?" Kiku asked, running after him with Francis. "She had to say something, Gilbert-san! Please don't joke around!"

"Stop, _Monsieur_! Come back here and give us answers!" Francis cried as he ran.

Gilbert simply laughed at the two and raced his fist in the air. "SEIZE THE DAY!"

* * *

_A/N: IT'S THE TITLE OF THE FANFIC. IT'S THE END OF THE FIC. *cues ending credits*_

_Joke._

_It's seriously not the ending though! Some characters *coughAlfredcough* have problems that need to be solved, so if you haven't died yet in the time I was gone you can still tune into that!_

_I apologize also for the lack of updates in (almost) a whole month. I would be extremely willing to narrate, in excruciating detail, the "horrifying" tales of when I stayed up until 2 a.m. trying to finish 6 projects that were due on the same day, or when I got sick with a fever during school and missed a play that I have been waiting for my whole life to watch, or the tale of not functioning on me and the wi-fi not functioning on me when got back to normal._

_Buuuuut I won't put you guys through all that torture. I love you too much for that. _

"_The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" is actually a poem my class discussed in Lit, and I included it because the title of the next Gil-Eliza interaction will be the fan-made sequel to this poem, "The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd" by Sir Walter Raleigh. But aside from that reason, the title of the Lit course I'm taking is "British and American Literature". So you can imagine all the USUK doodles in my notebooks, hehe._

_Special shout-outs to Noire Knightmare (welcome back!), The Monster Inside of Me (I'm glad you find this fic interesting), and dearqueenofspades (we'll see how it turns out)! Your kind words mean so much to me~!_

_Please leave a review on your way out. Thank you and have a nice day~! _


	19. A Birthday

_These are my birthday wishes. Dawn's at hand,_

_And you're an exile in a lonely land._

_But what were magic if it could not give_

_My thought enough vitality to live?_

-Aleister Crowley, _A Birthday_

* * *

On the 23rd of April, Alfred was walking back to his room while reciting some lines to himself. Only five days were left till the opening night and he probably should've kept practicing, but he paused, taking in the view of the stars that were reappearing after a long game of hide-and-seek with the sun. The crescent moon could be seen in the distance, its feeble glow smiling down on the bespectacled student who was now inches away from achieving a life-long dream. The spring winds that finally arrived after the long, harsh winter greeted him as well, whispering messages of congratulations and ruffling his already somewhat messy hair as if stating its approval for the decision he'd made.

The American attempted to continue reciting when he heard a sigh nearby. He looked to his right and saw a boy with familiar, sandy blonde hair. The boy sat on the walkway nearby, leaning against the wall. His red face was buried in his hands, and his breathing came out strained. To his left on the ground was a gift wrapped in green, the red ribbon on it making it look like an overdue Christmas present.

Alfred approached him, curious. "Arthur…?"

The one called looked up, surprised. His emerald green eyes were lined with tears, but his determination to keep it all in could be written across his features. Alfred had never seen him reduced to this state, despite the both of them having been together for nearly… the whole year, he assumed? It was a bit of a shocker for the bespectacled boy, and he knew at once that he would kill anyone who ever makes the Briton look like that ever again. Alfred opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but was interrupted by Arthur quickly erasing any evidence of tears and attempting to smile him. "Hey."

"Hey." Alfred sat beside him. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Arthur said immediately, making Alfred suspicious. Then he looked down to his hands, toying with a loose strand on the sleeve of his blazer. "Well, today's my birthday, actually."

"What?! The two of us have been friends all this time and yet you never told me your birthday was today?!" Alfred huffed in disappointment, because even if he may or may not have a crush on the boy seated next to him, he could've at least prepared a present of some sort. "I'm sorry. I didn't get you anything."

Arthur laughed at the American, shaking his head. "It's all right, Alfred. I don't really care about this day. Not many people do, anyway. I share it with around 9 million other people, after all."

"Don't say that! The day that my best friend in the whole entire world was born is a very important date that should be remembered for all eternity!" the American declared, arms crossed. Then he smiled and pat the Brit on his shoulder. "But hey. Even if I don't have a present or even if you hate your birthday, for what it's worth, happy birthday."

Arthur was astonished by those words, but his lips stretched into a thin smile. "Thanks, Alfred."

Just looking at Arthur's rare smiles always seemed to bring comfort to Alfred. It always brought him back to the first time they met, back when Arthur remained the one whom everyone labeled as the know-it-all Briton who couldn't even fix his eyebrows. Every time those rare smiles appeared, it was as if all the lies, walls, and boundaries that the Brit set up were being swept away. And all the more after Mr. Vargas unlocking his poetic talent, all the more after he finished writing his song, Alfred could say truly and deeply…

…Changing beautifully.

But now that he realized it, maybe it was only his view of the Brit that was beginning to change…

_Well shit. There's no need to remember that!_ Alfred could suddenly feel heat rushing to his face. _Divert thoughts! Say something!_ "So, um…" he coughed."Did you get anything for your birthday? Anything interesting?"

"I got this from my parents," he said, motioning to the gift next to him. "Haven't opened it yet. Would you like to open it?"

"Huh? Are you sure about that, Arthur?"

The Brit nodded and handed it to him.

"Okay, if you say so..." Alfred tore off the red ribbon around the rectangular-shaped present and tore off the wrapping paper after, wondering what the Kirkland parents got their youngest child. He dumped the wrapping paper excitement, but frowned at the sight of the gift's content. "Isn't this..."

"...The same desk set that I already have? Yes." Arthur replied. True enough, the desk sets were almost identical twins, aside from the fact that the one Alfred was holding was still wrapped in plastic.

"Oh. That's…"

"Great, isn't it? It's the exact same desk set as last year."

Silence settled between the two, followed by Alfred's chuckles filling the once quiet walkway. "Maybe they thought you needed another one, huh."

Arthur shrugged and looked away. "Maybe they weren't thinking about it at all." Then he looked back to his hands and chuckled. "The funny thing is I didn't even like it the first time."

An awkward silence settled between the two. It was rather unfair that Arthur's parents treated Arthur that way, but it was still pretty obvious that this thing affected him and brought him down. Alfred stared at the Brit, contemplating on ways as to how to kill the silence and pull him out of the sadness. The American opened his mouth to speak. "Hey, Arthur, you're—"

"You know what my dad called me when I was growing up?" Arthur interrupted, his voice low but shaking slightly. "'Five ninety-eight. That's what all the chemicals in the human body would be worth if you bottled them raw and sold them.' He told me that was all I'd ever be worth unless I worked to improve myself." He laughed. "'Five ninety-eight'! That's a lot to me, but not for them. Our standards are different, but I'm forced to go with what they believe is best… And I know that they believe I'm not the best, no matter how hard I work to meet their expectations."

Alfred shook his head. "Arthur, you're—"

"But you know, when I was younger, I kept on believing that all parents automatically loved their kids," Arthur continued, ignoring Alfred again. "That's what my teachers told me. That's what I read in all those library books. I believed in those stories of loving mothers and supporting fathers a-and families where everyone got along and lived happily every single day. I believed in all of that for a long time… Then I realized it. My parents loved my brothers, but they didn't love me one bit. My brother Alistair only pretended to care, my brother Colin didn't bother hiding his hate, and the only one who truly cared was Dylan. But even so, I'd been feeding myself lies the whole time." He drew a ragged breath as the tears began to fall in silence. "The books that fed me lies fed me more lies when I chose to escape reality. I turned to cigarettes afterwards, but that only made things worse for me... A solution to my problem occurred to me when I ran to the school's roof one day. The wind blew by me as I looked down and wondered, 'Would it be easier if I just jumped off? Nothing would change if I died…' I was sick of everything already. I was tired of believing in false hope. Maybe by allowing myself to fall I would be able to fly away. But I wasn't going to do it. I kept daring myself to climb over and jump, yet I still couldn't… I never had the courage to do it. I'm weak..."

He looked up then, and it was as if all the walls Arthur built up were broken down. He looked so defenseless, tears streaming down his red cheeks and wheezing like he'd caught a cold. "… And I'm really messed up, aren't I?" he asked with a sad smile.

"Artie," Alfred said softly, not wanting to be interrupted this time. "Remember that time when you were writing that song, and then you told me things about myself that I never really knew? I think it's about time I returned the favor."

Arthur sniffed and wiped away his tears. "W-what do you mean?"

"Your worst fear is that you'll never have a verse to contribute because your parents keep on pressuring you. You're afraid that, because you're always stuck in your brother's shadows, your life will become meaningless. You always dream of a future where you can achieve the things that you actually want to do, but just thinking about how your family might respond always prevents you from waking up and reaching for it. So, I'll say it to you straight. You don't need to listen to your parents. You don't need to keep begging for their approval if they'll never give it to you anyway. Don't feel so bad about it, okay? _Carpe diem_. Seize the day. Make your life extraordinary and do things for yourself."

"Easy for you to say," Arthur said bitterly. "Your dad wouldn't have let you participate in Shakesfest. You had to fake papers so you could participate this year."

"At least I did things for myself! Besides, I know for a fact that you're not worth 'five ninety-eight'. At lot of people here know that. Your parents just can't see that, you know? You're really smart, you know things that sometimes even Kiku doesn't know, you're good at writing and composing songs, you can play piano really well even if you hate it, you can sing… There isn't anything that you can't do."

"Cooking," Arthur brought up, blushing. "Soccer."

"That's beside the point!" Alfred exclaimed a bit too loudly, then lowered his voice a bit. "You're an amazing person, Artie. I can go on forever about how amazing you are. Your talents only scratch the surface of how interesting you are. Your constantly frowning face is really intimidating, but you really have the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. Sure, your eyebrows freak me out as well, but it adds more charm to you. In all the years that I have stayed in this school, you're the only one whom I actually felt most comfortable with. Even if you keep pushing me and the others away, even if you keep telling yourself that you're not good enough, I'll still keep convincing you of how great you really are. I don't care if you'll call me annoying or whatever, because in the end, I'm just telling you the truth."

There was another silence. Alfred looked up to the sky. "Remember when you told me that you liked me? I think it's about time I told you that I like you too." He turned back to Arthur and tensed up, red-faced. "Don't take it the wrong way, though. I only mean it as a friend. I don't mean anything else."

_That's a lie and you know it, _a voice teased inside his head but Alfred ignored it.

The Brit stared at the American, eyes wide. But his expression softened and he smiled warmly as he wiped the silver lining away from his emerald eyes. Alfred opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could do that, Arthur had embraced him. _Arthur had embraced him. __**ARTHUR KIRKLAND HAD EMBRACED HIM.**_

Alfred's mind was practically a bombardment of curses and swears that could send someone to the 7th Circle of Dante's Hell, but he did his best to keep them from spilling out of him for the sake of going to Heaven, or reincarnation, or whatever. After he gathered his thoughts again, he realized that maybe he was already experiencing a small piece of Heaven on Earth. At If that was what you could call the warm feeling in his chest and the way their shared warmth beat away the cool spring winds, then maybe it was.

Arthur's hands squeezed his upper back lightly. They were thin, but strong in a way that wasn't feminine. The Brit rested his head on Alfred's shoulder and whispered, "Say no more. I don't deserve the kindness you're treating me with… But thank you, Alfred."

_He smells like tea, _Alfred thought, smiling and recalling that moment in the music room. "Anything for you, Artie." He returned the embrace. It seemed, in that moment, like they were two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. "Anything for you."

"Yes, and also…" The moment was ruined by Arthur pinching Alfred's right ear, causing the latter to yell in pain, let go and rub the area with the sharp pain. Arthur stood up and crossed his arms while grinning. "It's already been how many months. Stop calling me that wretched nickname!"

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred rose, ignoring how red his face had become. "Whatever, Artie!"

"Ugh." Arthur shook his head, as if trying to shake off the red on his own cheeks. He then tilted his head, looking a lot happier now. "But seriously, Alfred. You may feel bad about not getting me a birthday present, but I'm really happy here just spending time with you. I may be saying this too much, but… I really mean it when I say thank you."

"Ah, speaking of presents!" The American bent over and picked up the desk set that the Kirkland parents gave. "I meant to tell you this, but you kept interrupting me." He began observing it closely, examining the desk set in different angles. "You know, Artie, you have been underestimating the value of this desk set."

Arthur scoffed. "Oh really, Mr. Jones? How?"

Alfred faked seriousness. "I mean, who would want a baseball or a football or—"

"Or a car," Arthur added, playing along.

"Or a car!" The American agreed. "When they could have a desk set as wonderful as this one?" He grinned at the Brit. "If I were ever going to buy uh, a desk set twice, I would probably buy this one both time. In fact, its shape is…" Arthur was standing next to him now, looking at the desk set amusedly. "It's rather aerodynamic, isn't it?" Alfred grinned. "I can feel it. This desk set wants to fly."

Alfred tossed the desk set lightly in the air. "Mr. Kirkland, I present to you the world's first unmanned flying desk set. Will you do me the honor of making this desk set's dreams come true?"

"Of course, Mr. Jones." Arthur stifled a few laughs as he took the outstretched desk set. He flung the desk set over the right side of the walkway, and it spun across the dark blue evening sky, the moonlight and the school lights reflecting its plastic wrapping. The spring breezes caught it for a short moment and carried it farther away from the school's walls, but the wind couldn't hold it long enough to stay airborne. The desk set was eventually caught by the laws of gravity, and it hit the ground, causing it to split into a millions pieces.

Arthur laughed in disbelief upon the sight of the now-broken desk set.

"Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it," Alfred said, grinning. "You'll probably get another one next year."

Arthur smiled again, and that was enough for Alfred to say that everything was alright in the world for once.

* * *

Hell began with five a.m. bell sounding out in the campus, causing birds to fly away at the alarming sound. The annoying "caw caw's" and "quack quack's" were enough to piss off anyone who hadn't gotten enough sleep the day before, and the alarm clock ringing a few seconds later caused Alfred (although he'd gotten enough sleep the night before) to cringe, pull the sheets over his head and cover his ears. _Please, give me five more minutes, Matt—_

"Wake up, you ninny!" Insert British roommate throwing his pillow and hitting the American square in the face. "You'll be late for class if you sleep in. This isn't the time to be dozing off! Wake up! WAKE UP!"

The American sighed then, pulling the sheets off his head and sitting up. He took his glasses from the side table as his eyes tried to get out of Dreamland. "There! I'm awake! I'm awa—"

He was interrupted by another pillow slamming his face. "I've taken my revenge, Mr. Jones," Arthur grinned, looking down at him.

Alfred frowned and swore internally that he was never ever going to wake up the Briton again, even if the situation called for it.

After taking a shower and getting ready for class, Alfred was about to head down for breakfast when he paused for an odd reason. The sky outside the room's window was the color orange because of the dawn that meant the beginning of a new day and a new chance to live life to the fullest. The American's thoughts then turned to Arthur and what had happened last night.

_Hey, do you still remember when we first had met? Do you recall that day?_

_All of your lies and your dependences and weaknesses were somehow being all swept away. _

Alfred could still recall that time vividly. He could never really be sure if the first time they'd met would be the time that Arthur' weaknesses would fade away, but maybe it was something like that. The leaves on the trees that day were orange too. Maybe it was a new beginning for him.

_In the pretty morning glow, much like then and now I can say truly and deeply_

_That you are changing beautifully._

Alfred witnessed firsthand Arthur's transformation, in a way. It was exactly like watching the sun rise: the dark of night seems to drag on forever, but after waiting patiently one gets rewarded with the marvelous sight of the sun spreading its warmth over the horizon. The sky would be painted with streaks of yellow…

…And orange.

At once, a new idea hit him. Alfred grabbed his notebook and began scribbling down his thoughts on a new sheet of paper.

_Orange_

_Lyrics by Alfred F. Jones_

_Music by Arthur Kirkland_

Alfred wasn't as talented as Arthur when it came to writing, but the bespectacled blonde was willing to give it a try. The reason was simple, and Alfred didn't bother denying it anymore: he loved Arthur. He wanted Arthur to know how he felt, and this song would be one way in which he could get his feelings across.

But he put the paper aside first, knowing that it wasn't the time to confess yet.

There were only four days left until Shakesfest, and he still hadn't worked up the courage to talk to his dad.

* * *

_A/N: Huh? What is this? What a surprise! A DOUBLE UPDATE!_

_What is the meaning of this?_

_**IT'S MY (BELATED) BIRTHDAY, FRIENDS! WOO-HOO~!**_

_Y'all deserve it due to my lack of updates in the past month, so here it is! Thank you so much for supporting this fic for the past months even if it does take me a while to update, and even if this fic is starting to draw to a close (yes, it's ending), words cannot express how grateful I am for all your support. _

_I shall now give a series of random fun facts regarding this chapter._

_Fun fact 1: This chapter is actually the first chapter I wrote for the whole fic. I didn't start it in chronological order since I had a writer's block, so I decided to start with one of my favorite scenes in the movie. The scene itself is maybe 2 to 5 minutes long and way, way, less cheesy/corny, but I managed to make it a whole chapter long, hahaha._

_Fun fact 2: Orange is a song written by touma and sung by Hatsune Miku. Personally I prefer Hanatan's cover of the song (just like Jishou Mushoku, since I discovered both on osu!). DO NOT CHECK THIS SONG OUT BECAUSE IT SPOILS THE END OF THE MOVIE. If you already know it yet haven't watched the movie… I am so sorry. You may or may not have been spoiled._

_Fun Fact 3: On my birthday itself (September 22), my class sang happy birthday ten times. The next day, they sang happy birthday again when I entered the classroom and got thrown out of the classroom as part of a demonstration._

_Needless to say, I'm sick of the "Happy Birthday" song._

_Please leave a review on your way out! Thank you and may your day not be as annoying as my birthday with the ten (twelve, actually) happy birthday songs~!_


	20. The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd

_Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,_

_Thy coral clasps and amber studs,_

_All these in me no means can move _

_To come to thee and be thy love._

-Sir Walter Raleigh, _The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd_

* * *

**Literature: 8:35-9:25 am**

_Teacher: Mr. Romulus Vargas_

The lights were switched off in Romulus' classroom during the Lit period on the 27th, the darkness of the classroom creating an air of mystery to any onlookers who happened to glance at the window by the door. All of the students wore blindfolds, seated quietly in their chairs as they listened to the music that was coming from the teacher's record player. Ludwig van Beethoven's _Moonlit Sonata _was playing, the sad and somewhat haunting notes echoing repeatedly within the walls of the classroom. The bell signaling the end of class rang, interrupting the music rather loudly and causing the boys to take their blindfolds off.

Romulus lowered the volume of the record player and smiled at the class from where he was seated. "Words can never contain, as music does, the wordless grace that has no definition. It leaps like the light from mind to mind." He stood up after turning the record player off. "That's it for today, boys. Keep it in there."

All of the boys said thanks to their teacher and left the classroom for recess except for Alfred, who stayed at his desk with the blindfold still on. Mr. Vargas approached him then and sat down at the desk in front of him, laughing silently at how the American still appeared to be deep in thought. Maybe he was nervous about the fact that tomorrow evening would be the premiere of his play, which was why he hadn't gotten up to eat yet. Speaking of which…

"Did you talk to your father yet?" the teacher asked suddenly, voicing out his thoughts.

The student took his blindfold off then, sky blue eyes widening at the question. He put on his glasses and set the blindfold back on his table. "Yeah," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "He, um, he didn't like it one bit, but he, ah, he's letting me stay in the play, at least. He's in Toronto right now with my twin brother Matthew, so he, err, might not be able to make it. But I… Well, I think he's gonna let me stay with acting."

Romulus frowned for a moment, because Alfred obviously wasn't telling the truth. Maybe he should've ratted Alfred out in that moment… But that wouldn't help him at all. Sooner or later that boy would have to deal with the consequences of his actions. The teacher just smiled softly, playing along with the student's lie. "Really? You told him everything you told me?"

"Yeah, I did." Alfred had smiled and looked down at his books. "He wasn't happy. But he'll be gone for at least four days, I think. He, uh, probably won't make it to the show or anything… But he's letting me stay with it, I guess." The American looked up again and pulled an imitation of his dad. "'Keep up the school work.'"

Romulus then watched as Alfred picked up his things and head to the door, knowing that the food would be gone if he didn't make it to the cafeteria in time. The teacher looked to the window, wondering then if what he chose was the best way to go.

"Hey, um, Mr. Vargas?"

The teacher turned. "Yes?"

Alfred smiled softly. "Thank you."

The door shut behind him with an unrecognizable finality.

* * *

"Beautiful, baby. You're looking beautiful tonight, baby," Gilbert said as he brushed part of his bangs away. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, grinning at how handsome he looked with his new coat and his hair much neater than normal.

Ivan smiled at his reflection as well, his white scarf worn rather loosely around his neck. "Beautiful, baby. Assumption College, make way for Ivan Braginski!"

"Oi, oi, move it!" said Yao, brushing a comb through his long, dark brown hair. Without the ponytail he almost looked like a girl, but he tied his hair back again and also laughed at his reflection in the mirror. "You're looking great tonight, Yao Wang. Those AC girls won't know what hit them!"

Arthur then came from behind and began messing up Yao's hair, causing the Asian to cry out in anger. "Aii-yah, Arthur! Don't be immature. I'm trying to fix this!"

The Briton laughed rather evilly and turned to the stall in the corner where Francis was getting ready. "Hurry up, Beardy, you're going to miss Alfred's entrance."

Speaking of Alfred, the American was excused from class that day to get ready for the evening, since the hype and excitement could be felt regarding the fact that a Welton student was actually playing a lead role for a famous play, a Shakespearean play at that.

Francis didn't reply, the silence seeming rather odd for the Frenchman, but Kiku explained it while he fixed his tie in front of the mirror. "_Eto, _Francis-san, no, I mean, Nuwanda-san said something about 'getting red' before he left the room. I'm not so sure what that means though… Well, you all know Nuwanda-san."

As if on cue, the door to Francis' stall opened behind Arthur and the Frenchman stepped out. His normally free-flowing hair was now tied back with a dark violet ribbon and he held a small brush with a bottle of red paint.

"So, Francis, what does this 'getting red' mean?" Ivan asked in amusement.

Francis opened his slightly unbuttoned shirt and revealed a large red lightning bolt painted down his chest.

Arthur almost burst out laughing. "What the Hell is that?"

"It's an Indian warrior symbol for virility," he explained, his accent slightly deeper than usual. He buttoned up his shirt. "Makes me feel potent, like it can drive the girls crazy."

Arthur rolled his eyes and hit the back of Francis' head playfully. "Oh come on, frog-face. The girls are waiting."

Girls weren't waiting for the boys, but true enough there was a girl waiting downstairs. The Dead Poets only noticed her as they were about to leave for AC, the sight of a member of the opposite sex a rather interesting prospect in a place where males were the dominant species. She was first noticed by Ivan, who stopped walking suddenly to stare at her. The other boys eventually noticed and stopped as well, Francis letting out a soft whistle at the girl standing by the door.

The girl had light brown hair that fell in waves past her shoulders and her forest green eyes searched around anxiously for a certain someone. She wore a black jacket over her white blouse and blue knee-length skirt with an orange floral pattern. The flowers in her hair matched those on her skirt and her knee-length boots covered her legs but revealed enough that she was rather well-formed.

Gilbert was the last of the Dead Poets to arrive, and he too was shocked at the sight of the girl. "Elizaveta?" he said. The albino left his friends to stand beside her. "What are you doing here?"

"Gentlemen, let's go," said Mr. Vargas, calling from his car outside.

Elizaveta remained silent. Gilbert sighed and turned to the Dead Poets. "Go ahead, guys. I'll catch up," he said.

"_H-hai_, l-let's go, _minna_!" said Kiku, hustling the rest of the group to leave. Ivan stayed behind staring at the Hungarian, but the Asian eventually managed dragging him away too.

"You can't be here, Elizaveta," Gilbert whispered. "If, if they catch you, we'll both be in big trouble."

"Oh, and it's fine for you to come barging into _my_ school and make a complete fool out of me?" Elizaveta asked with venom in her tone. "I can't believe you, Gilbert." She opened the door and began walking outside with him, the evening surprisingly warm. "You know, Roderich found out about everything. He was _so_ close to coming all the way here to kill you. Gilbert, please, you have to stop all of this. Stop chasing after me! Don't… Don't look for me anymore! I already told you during the party that it would be best if we stopped seeing each other, and until now I still think that it's true. It really would be the best for both of us. My life can finally return to normal, and maybe you might be able to find someone who really is meant for you. So, plea—"

"I won't stop looking for you, Elizaveta. In fact, I'm willing to endure everything if it means that you'll return my feelings in the end. I said it before and I'll say it again: I love you!"

Elizaveta scoffed. "You keep saying that, but you don't… You don't even know anything about me! And you know what else? You're all words. I appreciate the poem you made for me, but it doesn't even describe me that well. Aside from that, you make decisions without considering its effects and consequences on others. You clearly showed that the way you just barged into my school and embarrassed me in front of the whole class. Those things, those traits of yours are all you need to make romances that in the end prove to be nothing at all." She sighed then, realizing that she'd been talking a bit too loudly. "What you're feeling for me isn't love. I'm flattered that you think what you're feeling is love, but the truth remains: it isn't love at all. I hate to give it to you straight, but I will. What you're feeling is merely… infatuation."

Gilbert was about to open his mouth to reply, but their conversation was interrupted by Mr. Vargas calling out from a nearby car. "Will you be joining us, Mr. Beilschmidt?"

The Prussian shook his head and smiled at his teacher. "Go ahead, Captain. I'll just walk."

The Italian understood and gave him a thumbs' up. He drove away after with the rest of the Dead Poets.

"You know, Gilbert, it just so happens that I could care less about you," Elizaveta continued, kicking away some stones as she walked. "I mean, I too hardly even know you. You're just someone who I happened to meet while I was hanging out at Roderich's place. And then you called me up, I don't even know how you got my number, but I decided to invite you over to Roderich's for a party since, hey, it was the Christmas season anyway. Might as well share joy with others. But then you… That must've been the worst decision I made, because it just started this snowball that just gets even bigger as it rolls further down the hill. I'm trying to stop it already, before it hurts me, you, and everyone else…"

Gilbert suddenly felt a smile coming to his features. "You know, if you didn't care so much about me, you wouldn't be here warning me about your boyfriend."

Elizaveta's pent-up anger flared for a short moment, but she sighed and rubbed her forehead. She walked forward, turning away from the albino. "I have to go. I'll be late for the play and I already promised Maria that I would make it in time…"

"Are you going with Roderich?" Gilbert couldn't help but inquire.

The Hungarian shook her head sadly. "Roderich came down with a fever, so he couldn't make it. He always gets sick when the weather changes."

Gilbert took her hands in his, forcing himself to meet her gaze. There was only one option left to make Elizaveta believe in him, and this could probably work. "Then come with me to the play. A friend of mine is playing as the lead actor. I promised him too that I would make it on time."

Elizaveta let go of his hands and rubbed her temples. "You are so infuriating, Gilbert!" she exclaimed.

"I know I'm not so good with words. That's nothing new. But let me try to explain. Just give me one chance. If you don't like me after tonight, then I'll just…" Gilbert forced the words out at this point, because the condition he was giving up was practically a death sentence. "If you don't like me after tonight, I'll stay away forever."

Elizaveta nodded slowly, but her face still had a trace of doubt. "Uh-huh."

"I promise, Dead Poets Honor," Gilbert continued. "Come with me tonight. And then, if you really don't want to see me again, then fine, I'll bow out. Case closed."

"What would you do if Roderich found out?"

Gilbert shook his head. "He won't know anything. We'll sit in the back and sneak away as soon as it's over."

"And I suppose you would promise that this would be the end of it." It was a statement, not a question.

The Prussian put his left hand on his heart and raised his right hand. "Dead Poets Honor."

Elizaveta smiled amusedly. "What is that?"

"My word."

The Hungarian walked away from him, thinking about the prospect of sneaking around. It was almost as if she was a Justice deciding whether Gilbert was guilty or innocent. The Prussian stayed behind, kicking away the dirt under his shoes. Maybe all of Elizaveta's words contained a certain amount of truth in them, but really, he didn't care. All he knew at that moment was that he wanted to get to know Elizaveta better, even if it meant that Roderich would eventually come for him.

Elizaveta Hedervary turned around then, and smiling under the feeble light coming from the lamp post, Gilbert's theory had been proven.

She really was an angel.

"You are so infuriating," she repeated. "But I think I'll accept your offer."

Gilbert silently thanked whatever gods out there that allowed Elizaveta to say yes, and the two of them walked under the moon together, headed to the theater in which a certain tragedy started to unfold.

* * *

_But could youth last and love still breed,_

_Had joys no date nor age no need,_

_Then these delights my mind might move_

_To live with thee and be thy love._

-Sir Walter Raleigh, _The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd_

* * *

_A/N: So I found time to write even if this chappy is pretty short, and it's starting to disturb me a little how close we're getting to the end… But hey, it was bound to happen._

_I don't really have much to rant about regarding this chapter, except that I'm not sure if I did Gilbert and Elizaveta's characters justice. Please tell me in the reviews, because I am DYING to know what you guys think._

_Speaking of which, do any of you remember the poem Alfred read in the earlier chapters? The one by Alfred Lord Tennyson? Well, I was hit with an idea to write a USUK fanfic based off Alfred Lord Tennyson's life, but we'll see if it'll push through after this since I'm already starting to plan for college and careers and stuff, haha._

_I'm old._

_Special shout-outs go to Noire Knightmare (I hope your laptop gets fixed soon, haha) and a certain friend of mine in school (you know who you are, *wink* *wink*) for taking time to read this fic! Gosh, it's hard to believe that it's ending so soon~!_

_Please leave a review on your way out. Thank you and have a nice day~!_


End file.
